


To Weather the Dark

by AdraCat



Series: To Weather the Dark Collection [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: And highkey pining, Black Eagles route, Certain Details of Blue Lions, Crimson Flower, Edelgard is lowkey depressed, F/F, Made for Edelgard fans only, Many headcanons ahoy!, Spoilers, The Emperor Fόdlan needs but doesn't want, War is hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-09-07 17:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 84,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20313643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdraCat/pseuds/AdraCat
Summary: The monster is unveiled and a war begins. An Emperor moves her soldiers into place as the world tries to intercept. All the while, ghosts of what was and might have been linger. An attempt to bridge the gap between one woman's long sleep and another's struggle for liberation.





	1. Prologue: Go oft awry

# To Weather the Dark

**Prologue**: Go oft awry

It happened in an instant.

Rhea, no, The Immaculate One lifted its great head to the sky. Massive wings spread over the spires of Garreg Mach, silvery scales shimmering. The sight was ethereal; and for a moment, Edelgard understood why someone would worship such a creature. The beast wailed, an unnerving shriek that was not entirely inhuman. Despite herself, she felt a shiver of fear. _This_ was the Church’s true face. _This_ was the monster that had oppressed Fόdlan for years. Edelgard gripped her axe tight, forcing away the terror that crawled down her spine. There was no room for uncertainty. She would tear the beast down from the sky, even at the cost of her life. Such was her conviction.

In her periphery, she watched Byleth stare up at the draconic figure. Her teacher held her sword at the ready, features stoic as ever. Edelgard expected as much. The woman was a pillar of strength, never balking in the face of adversity. Nothing had shaken that cool facade, and she doubted anything ever would. The Sword of the Creator glowed with devilish light. The blade’s segments flexed like a snake when Byleth brought it above her head. _Yes,_ Edelgard thought,_ slay the beast with the sword it granted you. Be as Nemesis was to Fόdlan all those centuries ago, __and liberate us._

How naive of her to think it could be that simple. The Immaculate One opened its maw wide, an effervescent light gathering on the tip of its tongue. It roared, and with it came a great beam that sliced through the earth. A concussive wave threw her to the ground. Her axe flew from her hands, becoming lost amidst the tumult. Edelgard tumbled, something catching the edge of her leg and piercing deep into the muscle. She screamed for the Professor, voice lost as the ground tore beneath her. Then the dark took her into its embrace.

Edelgard did not know how much time passed between dazed wakefulness and sleep. Her head throbbed with agony as did the wound in her leg. Eventually her eyes opened to a thunderous sky. Dark clouds gathered in the heavens above, a mere glimmer of light seen through misted breaks. She sat up on her hands, shaken. All around her was chaos. Her allies were scattered, bodies cast violently away from the center of the blast. In the distance, she spotted Caspar and Ferdinand crawl to their feet. The prone form of Dorothea was frightfully still. Petra, cheeks pale and bloody, staggered over to the fallen songstress.

“Your Majesty!”

Edelgard blinked as Hubert appeared before her. The young man fell to his knees, his robes torn at the neck and side. A grimace carved the severe planes of his face.

“Your Majesty, are you––”

“I’m fine, Hubert.” She waved off his concern, regaining her composure. Her teeth clenched tight as she forced away the searing pain in her calf. “Tell me, where is the creature? Did it escape?”

“The Immaculate One took flight shortly after attacking.” Hubert leaned back on his heels. He pursed his lips, displeasure evident. “The crafty beast made sure we could not follow. It will take us quite some time to regroup.”

“I see,” Edelgard exhaled sharply. Disappointment sat heavily in her chest; black and leaden. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They had been careful; strove to account for each contingency. Their might was unsurpassed, even by the famed Knights of Seiros who had been rendered helpless by their hands. Yet she had been unable to anticipate the sheer power of that creature. All of this preparation, and it amounted to naught. How terribly _vexing_. Gathering herself, Edelgard rose. She ignored the blood trickling down her leg. The unwelcome warmth seeped into a puddle at her feet. Her eyes took in the destruction in the beast’s wake.

To her left, Bernadetta crawled out from beneath a collapsed pillar. The girl was shaking like a leaf, hands clutching her broken bow in a white knuckled grip. Linhardt had joined Petra by Dorothea’s side. The boy held his hands above her head, finger’s glowing gold with healing magic. His own brow was near purple, and only grew more so with each second that passed. The Brigid Princess held Dorothea by the hand, expression pensive. Just beyond them, Sylvain was crouched by the corpse of his horse. An uncharacteristic look of fury sat upon his face. Felix hobbled close to the other boy, using his sword as a cane. His leg was bent oddly at the knee. Ingrid limped wearily after him, her usually vibrant hair stained with streaks of crimson. Lysithea seemed the most unscathed. The girl stared up into the clouds with stunned disbelief. Next to her, Leonie was muttering under her breath; hands clasped to her ribs. Edelgard turned back to Hubert.

“I want those that can stand to attend to the wounded. We can count our losses after we make sure the living are safe.”

“It shall be done, Milady.” He bowed at his waist before striding over to Linhardt. The boy was the best healer among them, and he would be sorely needed in the hours to come. Edelgard bit her cheek, forcing her trembling legs to remain steady. She refused to collapse now. An Emperor could never be seen as weak. Laboriously, she limped to the courtyard epicenter. The beast had obliterated their surroundings with a mere toss of the head. How arrogant had she been, to assume they could so easily triumph over such an abomination? Her father had often said that the best-laid plans were nothing in the eyes of the Goddess. _Laughable. Utterly laughable. _She clenched her fists. No matter. They would find Rhea and finish the job once and for all.

_That monster can not hide forever. __We have Nemesis’s heir.__ The __P__rofessor wil__l__– _Edelgard stiffened. The Professor. Before the beast attacked, Byleth was standing below the dragon’s shadow. Directly where the blast had been. A chill snaked down her back. Her heart leapt into her throat as she stared at the blackened crater where Byleth once stood.

“Professor!” The cry stole from her throat without permission, desperate and aggrieved. “Teacher! Where are you?!”

Her voice echoed hollowly. Only the pained groans of Imperial soldiers, and the creak of armor answered her. She stumbled closer to the rubble, eyes darting madly. Surely the woman was still alive. This was _Byleth_. Detached, powerful, and brilliant. The person who tore a hole in the sky to escape an impregnable darkness. The woman who led them to countless victories, felling even the most terrible of foes. The only one who shielded her without incentive, time after time. Her hero; her savior.

_Goddess_, Edelgard hissed in her mind; spiteful. _Should you take her from me, I will never forgive you._ She searched for the crimson glow of the Professor’s sword, of the slightest hint of tousled green locks, or even a scrap of a black cloak. There was nothing. Around her, the remnants of her army milled. She skirted around them in a panic, not heeding their prying stares or alarmed gasps. Byleth was alive, she had to be. The trappings of destiny dripped off the woman, cloaking her in its embrace. Edelgard recognized this from the start. How could she not when her own life held the same feeling of inevitability? It was what drew them together, and why she could not believe her teacher would be felled in this way. They were meant for something more, both of them. She was certain of it.

So why could she not find her?

“Hubert!” Edelgard called out to her retainer, drawing his attention. His brow furrowed, lime gaze flicking to her bloodied leg. She ignored this and stalked boldly up to him. “The Professor, where is she? Have you seen her?!”

“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty.” His words were slow, thoughtful. The young man glanced down at her wound once more. “I’m sure that woman is fine. She’s disturbingly resilient after all. But first, let me fetch Linhardt and have him heal you. You’re losing a significant amount of blood.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Edelgard lowered her voice, reigning in her growing distress. Hubert’s concern was well-meant, if not appreciated at the current moment. “Are you certain you did not see her? Think hard.”

“I’ve been keeping a tally of those that survived this...unfortunate turn. Professor Byleth is not among them, as of yet. Apologies, Your Majesty.” Hubert’s head tilted down, grimacing.

“She could have ran after Rhea, or the remaining Knights. Our teacher is like a dog with a bone, you know.” Ferdinand sidled up to them, his arm swathed in a makeshift sling. A weary smile creased his mouth. Bernadetta trailed behind him demurely. The girl’s face was obscured by her mussed bangs.

“No, she would not leave us unattended. The Professor would never be so callous as that,” Edelgard denied vehemently. She crossed her arms, fingers flexing in irritation. “Do not be foolish Ferdinand. Or do you simply have so little faith in her?”

“Of course not!” The tall boy squawked, flushing in indignation. He scratched his cheek, chagrined. “I was just providing a reasonable answer. No need for insults.”

“Ferdinand is right. While Professor Byleth is normally level-headed, it would not be too out-of-character for her to pursue a troublesome foe.” Linhardt crept up from behind her. He was paler than before, taxed from his extensive use of magic. The strain was clear, seen in his shaking arms. “Even if only to keep us safe, I can see her seeking Rhea out in retribution.”

“We shall see,” She relented reluctantly. The explanation did not sit well with her in truth. Her teacher was many things, but impulsive she was not. Edelgard breathed in deeply. A faint spell of vertigo came over her, but she shook it away. “Forgive me. All of this has me rather unsettled. Rhea’s resistance was expected, but I did not think we would be so _helpless_.”

“She took us by surprise. Don’t worry, we’ll be ready next time.” Ferdinand nodded at her, his characteristic zeal coming back to him faintly.

“I agree, Your Majesty.” Hubert bowed again. “The Immaculate One will soon rue the day she crossed you. I will make sure of that.”

“D-Do we really have a chance? Lady Rhea was so...scary,” Bernadetta whimpered, shivering. Her small frame was hunched over in fright. Ferdinand frowned and patted the girl gently on the back.

“We better. I got a score to settle with that flying bitch.” Sylvain walked up to them. His gait was stiff, hands balled in fists at his side. Rage simmered behind his russet eyes. “She killed my horse.”

“Your equine companion aside, we have suffered great losses.” Linhardt touched a finger to his forehead, the skin now a mottled violet. “Our house is relatively unscathed, thankfully. The only one who was gravely injured was Dorothea, but I was able to minimize the damage to a mild concussion.”

“Thank you, Linhardt. Your service will not be forgotten.” Edelgard blinked, another moment of dizziness overcoming her. She pressed a hand to her temple, and swallowed. Spots of light flickered at the edge of her vision. “I...I will need the remaining troops to gather in the courtyard. Garreg Mach is safe for now but we...we need to...”

Her knees buckled and the world tilted on its axis. Suddenly she saw the sky, foreboding and grey, above her once more. The dark crept and lingered. Panicked voices came to her but they were distant, far as the stars themselves. She was sinking under, waves of black stealing her away beneath the tide. Before her senses failed her and memory became dream, she thought she could see a woman with hair like the sea.

_Ah_, Edelgard murmured airily. _T__here you are, __m__y teacher._

Then, she knew nothing.

* * *

The artery was grazed, but not ruptured. It was only by the grace of the Goddess that she lived, or so Professor Manuela insisted. Edelgard did not much care for that line of thinking, but dared not anger the woman further. She sat mulishly in the bed, glancing disdainfully at her bandaged leg. Such a trifling wound; how humiliating for it to beset her so. Yet another annoyance to thank Rhea for. Her body tensed at the reminder.

It had been twelve days since the attack on Garreg Mach. While the Knights of Seiros had fled, it would seem no one had information on their whereabouts. They were distressingly covert, even as Imperial Scouts searched each village and port. The same was said for the Archbishop. She was rather inconspicuous for a flying lizard, but that did not mean much. The beast was most likely going to seek asylum in either the Kingdom or the Alliance, andneither would assist the Empire in this endeavor. The Blaiddyd Royal family was too pious, and House Reigan would not dare cross their distant cousins. The Empire would have to continue alone. Just as it had always been.

Edelgard stared out the window, eyes following the path of a lone raven. The animal perched upon a nearby gate, wings ruffling with the wind. Then it stilled, head swiveling with bland interest. She watched it in silence. Perhaps the comparison was unfair, but it reminded her of Byleth. Her wound throbbed as did the muscle in her chest. She reached up and pressed a hand over her heart. Despite hope for the contrary, their beloved Professor was nowhere to be found. Days were spent clearing the rubble from the ruined grounds, to no avail. There was no trace of the older woman. Impossibly, it was as if she vanished into thin air. Even the Sword of the Creator was absent, leaving their teacher’s fate a mystery. It was an unwelcome revelation.

A part of her wished to find something, anything at all. Whether a sign of the woman’s survival, or a confirmation of her death; Edelgard was desperate for closure. It would be devastating, of course, to find her mangled corpse. But even that would be enough to still her troubled thoughts. If Byleth was truly dead, she deserved a proper burial at the very least. This torturous uncertainty was far worse. No Professor to guide them. No body to bury. Just...nothing. Still, Edelgard could not help but hope for the best. Her nights were restless with possibility. Perhaps her teacher was chasing Rhea after all, or hounding the remaining Knights with single-minded focus. Perhaps she had been taken hostage by Catherine, and spirited away amidst the confusion.

In her dreams, Byleth simply returned unscathed. The woman would smile gently, as she was prone of late. She would not speak, for trading paltry assurances was not her way, but gaze at her knowingly instead. Then Byleth would reach out her hand. Edelgard always woke before their skin could meet. Such a sweet dream; how utterly loathsome the reality. The rest of her house seemed to sense her growing preoccupation, their visits more numerous with each passing day. She saw their concern plainly; read it between Petra’s cautious glances and Caspar’s strained bravado. Eventually it grew tiresome, and she had Hubert assign them to various tasks. Edelgard von Hresvelg was no delicate flower. She would not have them treat her as such.

They ached for the loss of their Professor too, but she doubted they felt it as keenly. Their sorrow was not quite as personal. Byleth was a mentor, perhaps even a friend, to them. _They_ did not place every lingering hope they had left like she did. _They_ did not lose their only guiding light within this world of dark, unspeakable things. Man makes plans and the Goddess laughs. Edelgard watched as the raven brushed its wings with its beak before taking to the sky once more. It flew above the Monastery parapets, and vanished out of sight. No parting glance was spared for its observer. An animal as free as a raven cared not for those it left behind.

_Stop it._ She bit her lip. The tang of blood flooded her mouth. _These maudlin thoughts serve no one. I shame myself, and the Professor, with such weakness._ The time for self-pity was over. Edelgard could no longer afford to remain stymied by grief. Alive, or dead; Byleth’s fate would be known soon enough. Until then, the Empire needed her. The remaining Black Eagles needed her. Neither God, nor monster could prevent her from achieving her destiny. She would take Fόdlan back whether by pen or sword, and damn those who stood in the way of her conviction. Faerghus, Leicester, Dagda; it mattered not. In the name of everything Byleth had given her, this chance must not go to waste. Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg vowed to crush the followers of Seiros beneath her heel. She swore to rip that snake off her lofty throne, and avenge those they had lost. The corruption of this world would be burnt to cinders, and in its wake a new dawn would come. This was her promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello all! Thank you for clicking on this story and giving it a read! This will be my first work posted anywhere in MANY years. I just got done with Crimson Flower and needed to write something for Edelgard. Just as a warning, spoilers for Crimson Flower and parts of Blue Lions/Silver Snow will be included. So if you have yet to play through these routes, I highly suggest you do. Characterizations herein are subject to my own interpretation and headcanons, such as TWSiTD and certain details in the timeskip. If you take issue/confused with anything please don't hesitate to reach out, and I'll do my best to explain. Also, keep in mind that I adore all characters and have no intention of 'bashing' anyone. This work is subject to unreliable narrator at times, so bias is understandable. I'm quite aware my grammar is haphazard at best and sometimes blatantly incorrect. I primarily write what feels natural, so I'm preemptively sorry to all those English nerds out there. Constructive criticism is appreciated :)  
Please enjoy! - AdraCat


	2. The Year of Grief and Ambition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war begins in earnest, but not all conflicts occur on the battlefield.  
Also known as: Edelgard is sad and sometimes eats cake.

**C****hapter 1: **The Year of Grief and Ambition

Time passed slow. The ever turning wheel of mortality seemingly halted as the world held its breath in anticipation. All across Fόdlan, commoner and noble alike whispered in hushed voices. They spoke of the churlish young Emperor; Edelgard von Hresvelg first of her name and last of her family. A spoiled woman-child who dared oppose the Church of Seiros and seized Garreg Mach from beneath the Archbishop’s feet. Who, in her youthful arrogance, denounced Seiros as a false Prophet. In excited whispers they praised the newly ascended King Dimitri, who in his bountiful mercy granted good Lady Rhea solace within Faerghus’ border. How virtuous the man; how pious the Kingdom. The heretical Emperor was nothing in the face of his nobility.

And in the midst of it all, the Alliance. A neutral power in name, yet torn in two by conflicted allegiance. The Great Noble Houses could not decide whether to condemn the Empire’s audacity, or swear its fealty. Leicester, a dichotomous force to the end. House Riegan kept a firm grip, but even they could not mend the rifts growing between them all. It’s newly appointed head, Claude von Riegan, was a born diplomat. Yet as time passed, he struggled to keep the nobles appeased. Or so it appeared. The common people were just as divided, most notably those that supported House Ordelia. It was not lost on them that the heir was firmly ensconced within the Empire’s graces. A valued member of the Emperor's inner circle no less; the infamous Black Eagles who assaulted the holy grounds of Garreg Mach.

Of those in that exclusive number who held Kingdom ancestry, nothing gracious was spoken. Houses Gautier and Fraldarius were particularly acerbic on the subject. The patriarch of House Galatea was inconsolable by contrast, torn between denouncing his traitorous daughter and pleading for the King’s aid in retrieving her. Dimitri’s stance was firm; uncompromising. Those that stood with the Adrestian scourge deserved no mercy. They were to be excommunicated from the Church and cast out from their respective houses, crest or no. Privately, it was said that the King raged at the betrayal of his closest friends. It was an assumption that was neither challenged nor denied by his court. Some things were better left buried.

In the intervening months since the loss of Garreg Mach, the good Lady Rhea locked herself into seclusion. Her Knights served solemnly at her door, their number far fewer since the assault. The servants whispered over the Lady’s everlasting sorrow. They gossiped about the cries of anguish heard from her quarters. The poor woman, they lamented in secret. Lady Rhea was such a gentle soul, to grieve for the senseless waste of life in the wake of this war. The rumors grew and spiraled, but a faint minority did express unease. These scant few spoke of blasphemous things. How Lady Rhea laughed madly into the night, or how she talked frantically to the shadows in her room. One particular dissenter was convinced she saw the Lady consumed with rage; the woman overturning furniture in a manic episode. This was just spurious hearsay, likely perpetrated by Imperial sympathizers. Such people were quick to be dismissed from the Lady’s service.

However, truth was a malleable thing and history was oft decided by the victor. What answers the people sought, no one could say for certain. Only time would tell.

* * *

“How is the situation in Nuvelle?” Emperor Edelgard asked, the question directed at the dark-haired tactician before her. She sat in repose at the head of the great table, her allies gathered around her in mass. Her finger’s were laced atop the oak in expectation. Hubert did not disappoint.

“The Viscount is being quite _obstinate_. The Western Church has traction there, and they have gathered a significant militia. Our men have had trouble quelling them as it stands.” Her oldest ally smiled cruelly. “I propose we send a firm message in response. House Nuvelle has lost much prominence, but the heir is a popular man. Clever, affable, and conveniently stationed in Enbarr for the time being. His stubborn fool of a father will not risk his safety, should we press the issue.”

“You’re suggesting we ransom the boy?” Ferdinand interjected. His mouth was slanted into a scowl. “Preposterous. Surely we can come to some sort of agreement? House Nuvelle knows they cannot possibly defy Her Majesty’s decree alone.”

“I know the Nuvelle’s.” Caspar shifted uneasily in his chair. His blue eyes were clouded as he looked to the Emperor. “The son, Daylan, is in service to House Bergliez. He’s a good guy. Nothing like his old man.”

“Perhaps he can persuade the fool to stand down. Either way, the Viscount cannot continue funding the Western Church. To continue do so, would be treason of the highest order.” Hubert chuckled darkly. Ferdinand eyed the other man with growing contempt. To his left, Petra stood up from her seat. The foreign royal stared directly into Edelgard’s eyes, drawing her attention.

“In Brigid, we have saying,” Petra spoke thickly. “There is not greater foe than within. I am in agreement that we should be acting soon.”

“Petra, you can’t possibly condone this,” Dorothea whispered. The young woman had been conspicuously silent until now, her normal verve absent of late. While she had recovered gracefully from her prior injuries, it was clear the incident had shaken her. It was not common for her to speak during these meetings, mind often lost to melancholy. Now, she stared at her friend in horror. Her verdant gaze was pleading, but Petra remained firm.

“I am having much skill in this. Give the order, and son of Nuvelle will be taken.”

“While I appreciate the initiative, that action might not be necessary.” Edelgard shifted her attention to the young Bergliez. “Caspar, do you think this man will come willingly?”

“Daylan’s loyal to the Empire, I know that much. I don’t know whether he’ll go against his father though,” Caspar admitted with a wince. “Honestly, it could go either way.”

“Very well. Then we shall try to appeal to his better nature. Caspar, I’ll be sending you to attend to the negotiations. He might be more inclined to join if pressed by a son of House Bergliez. Petra, you shall join on standby. If this Daylan proves troublesome, your skill set will be invaluable.”

“I have understanding.” The Princess of Brigid bowed her head. Edelgard did not miss how Dorothea covered her mouth and looked away. She would need to have a chat with the other girl soon, preferably in private. The songstress was a valued friend, but that only went so far in the grand scheme of things. Edelgard could not afford dissent among them.

“Hubert, I want you to send a regiment to Fόdlan’s Fangs and Hevring. The mountains are isolated, but they see the majority of overseas trade that passes to Nuvelle. See if you can’t convince the merchants to halt commerce to Nuvelle and Ochs.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. It shall be done.”

“Good. The rest of you, go about your duties as normal. I may need a separate unit to head to the county in my stead, so keep at the ready. Dismissed.” Edelgard paused, waiting until each of them were standing. “Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid; stay. There is something we need to discuss.”

The three of them traded uneasy looks, but did as they were bid. She did not blame them, especially when talks of ransom were so recently discussed. However, the Emperor held no such designs for the Kingdom nobles. She doubted their houses would acquiesce. Her dear ‘brother’ would no doubt fall on his own lance before conceding her anything. Dimitri was aggravating in that way. Soon it was just the four of them within the war room. Edelgard considered them in silence. Sylvain had a smile on his face, but it did not reach his eyes. Ingrid was still, and stared pointedly at the far wall. Felix held himself defensively, jaw clenched.

“You can be at ease. The service you have done for our House has more than earned your place among us. I have no designs of handing you over to Faerghus, nor do I want to.” She said it plainly, hoping they could hear her sincerity. “The Professor chose you three for a reason. I respect her better judgment.”

“The Professor is gone,” Felix spoke first, voice harsh as ever. Edelgard bit back a flinch, both at his abruptness and the words said. She quelled her growing ire. Her nails bit deep into her palm.

“For the time being, yes.” Throat clearing, she attempted a reassuring smile. It was uncomfortably tight on her face. “Nonetheless, the point stands. While I understand that circumstances may have forced you on this path with me, I bear no one ill will should you decide to defect. In that event, we can grant you safe passage back to Faerghus. If not, you will be allowed to stay within Imperial lands. All I ask, is that you continue to serve among the Black Eagles. In honor of our teacher, if nothing else.”

“No offense, but that’s kind of pointless now. I mean, the academy houses don’t exist anymore, right?” Sylvain laced his arms behind his head, frowning.

“While that might be true, the Black Eagle Strike Force will continue on. If you accept, I will have the three of you placed permanently within the ranks as Commanders. Ingrid, I would task you with establishing a regiment of Pegasus Knights. Sylvain, you would accomplish the same with a cavalry unit. Felix will join Caspar in leading the infantry.”

“And if we decline?” Ingrid’s eyes swiveled to meet the Emperor’s.

“As I said, you will be allowed to return home.”

“A generous offer,” Felix scoffed, ever irreverent. The young man canted his head to stare at a nearby portrait of the Archbishop. The room they were in was once Rhea’s dining area, and reminders of this sordid past were everywhere. Edelgard herself planned to burn every last remnant of that creature, but various duties prevented her from doing so as of yet. Felix sneered at the woman’s visage. “I don’t enjoy fighting for the Empire, but I dislike the thought of living under that woman’s thumb even more. The Professor helped me understand that I need to find my own path, not my father’s or the Boar’s. I believe fighting to liberate Fόdlan would be the first step to achieving that goal.”

“Well said. And how about the two of you?” Edelgard leaned forward, staring hard at Ingrid in particular. Sylvain was not especially close with his family, but the same could not be said about her. The young woman loved her father deeply, for all his faults. Ingrid did not shy away from her gaze. Their eyes met with solemn weight.

“I made my decision the moment we rode to Garreg Mach. You were right about Lady Rhea, as unbelievable as it was at the time.” Her expression fell, sadness creasing her brow. “The Professor was a good woman. She did not deserve the cruel end the Archbishop forced upon her. I love my House, and I love my country, but I cannot serve them in good faith. Not when they still believe Lady Rhea’s lies.”

“Then you will stay?”

“I will.” Ingrid hesitated for a moment before bowing formally. “Your Majesty.” Edelgard looked to Sylvain, but the boy merely shrugged at her in response. His anger in the aftermath of the battle had cooled to embers, but it was clear he bore no love for the Archbishop. He smirked somewhat bitterly.

“Hey, I made it this far. Might as well go all the way, right? Besides, I don’t want to let the Professor down by being a turncoat. Maybe if I’m a good boy she’ll visit me in my dreams.”

“Don’t be a bore,” Ingrid sighed in exasperation. “As if she would waste her time with _you_. If she could visit any of us it would be––”

The young woman stopped, frame stiffening. Sylvain’s grin disappeared. His eyes flicked nervously from his friend to the Emperor, then back again. Even Felix felt the weight of that gaff, his hand curling uneasily upon the pommel of his sword. It was an unbearably tense moment, awkward with implication. Edelgard swallowed hard before steeling her rattled nerves.

“At any rate, I’m pleased with your decision. You may join the others if you wish. That will be all.” She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. To her dismay, her fingers trembled. She hoped they did not notice. The three Kingdom nobles acknowledged the order with a bow before disappearing out the door. Ingrid’s parting look of apology did not escape her. She knew the other girl meant well; they all did despite their bluster. It was no fault of Ingrid’s that she stumbled upon Edelgard’s deepest wound.

Or would failure be the correct word?

She collapsed back into her chair, hand wearily placed over her eyes. Months had passed since the siege of Garreg Mach. The Empire had rallied under her banner, and the few lords who opposed her were quickly silenced. Perhaps the methods were questionable, but the Emperor was not in the mood to entertain their tantrums. Not when she had lost so much already due to inaction. Still, even after so much time had passed, her mind wandered with possibility. What if they had attacked the Monastery sooner? What if they had killed Rhea before she transformed? What if Edelgard had been smarter, faster, stronger––

What if, indeed.

The truth was, she could not accept it. This _reality_ where the most brilliant woman she knew was gone. It was impossible. Yet here they were, months later, and still Byleth had not returned to them. To _her_. Lesser men and woman made it through unscathed, so how was this fair? No. She refused to think of it. Hubert was exasperated, she knew. The man was weary of her grief, though he graciously pretended otherwise. Edelgard saw it whenever they spoke. Her retainer could not entirely hide the irritation he felt the moment Byleth was mentioned. Not because he despised the woman, even if he had played the part well. But because Edelgard would become uselessly morose days afterward. It was rather absurd in truth. If nothing else, the Emperor was aware of her selfishness.

The rest of the Black Eagles were careful not to mention the Professor around her. Sometimes, it could not be helped, as their pain was a quality they all shared. Reminiscing over better times was inevitable. Edelgard was not quite so egotistical as to deny them that basic right, or so she told herself. Invariably, it always ended up coming back to the missing woman. She, who united them and led them to this moment. Had it been anyone else, Edelgard would have envied their clear devotion. She understood the feeling, however. More than anyone else.

_ My teacher._

A sudden knock on the door drew her out of reverie. Edelgard straightened, and shuffled the splayed papers before her. It wouldn’t do for the Emperor to be caught moping.

“Enter,” Edelgard beckoned authoritatively. The door creaked open.

“Edie.” Dorothea looked at her, expression grave. It was still odd to see her without the trademark cap. The garment had long since been lost among the courtyard ruins, likely carried off by the wind or burnt to nothing by Rhea’s ethereal fire. The older girl walked slowly into the room; her halting gait portrayed uncertainty. As a friend, it was disheartening to see the self-assured songstress so reticent. As an Emperor, she felt only impatience. Edelgard did not afford herself the folly of sympathy. Unkind as it was, war was no place for those without resolve.

“Dorothea.” She let her palms rest flat upon the table. “Was there something you needed?”

“Yes, actually.” Dorothea bit her lip, appearing to struggle with something. Then she raised her chin, a spark of her previous fire returning. “Don’t send Petra to Enbarr. Please.”

“An odd request. Is there some reason for this, or do you have another idea as to handle Viscount Nuvelle?” Edelgard peered across the table, nails clacking the wood in an even rhythm. Dorothea watched her hands in silence. Then she pursed her lips.

“I’m not a tactician like Hubie, nor do I claim to know these nobles. But surely we can reach a compromise? The Viscount supports the Western Church, but they aren’t affiliated with Lady Rhea. Wouldn’t it be prudent to ally with them, rather than push them from the Empire?”

“A fair assessment on your part. However, that would defeat the purpose. Our aim is to eradicate idolatry of Seiros, not just the sect who obey the Archbishop. Followers of the Goddess may worship in private, but that monster’s teachings cannot remain rooted within our society. And who is to say they will not join Rhea’s cause in the months to come?” Edelgard softened her expression. “Dorothea, you have always been admirably empathetic. It’s a virtuous quality that I find myself struggling with at times. But we have little need for virtue in war. The Empire requires that I act decisively, so I will. Won’t you have faith in me?”

“I trust you, Edie. I do.” Dorothea smiled wanly, features pale. “I just...have trouble seeing the necessity for violent posturing. You wouldn’t really hurt the man’s son, would you?”

“Daylan Nuvelle is a valued soldier. In the world I wish to create, men like him will be sorely needed. His father is another matter.” Edelgard took a breath and held it. “If the Viscount remains obstinate, I will likely resort to other measures to force his compliance. Taking the life of his son is not something I would be prepared to do.”

“Thank you, Edie. That puts my mind at ease.” The oppressive tension that had gathered around the songstress evaporated. Her face brightened with relief. Edelgard wondered if the other girl would remain relieved if she knew about the contingency plan in place. A man’s life was one thing, but the fate of an entire county was another. Cutting off their commerce by sea was merely a small step in fracturing the Viscount’s morale. Since the Brionac Plateau to the north and the Fangs to the south limited Nuvelle’s potential for agriculture, trade with Ochs and Arundel kept the county fed. Should her soldier’s blockade those routes, the people would naturally starve. Even a fool such as the Viscount would have to reconsider his position in the war under such duress.

She hoped it would not prove necessary. Most of her circle may not approve of ransom, but this was the least insidious option. No, Edelgard decided, Dorothea would certainly be disgusted. The girl was far too kind. The only person who could comprehend the need for such lengths was Hubert. _The Professor too. She had always understood her the most._ Just another cut in an ever deepening wound. _I __**will **__kill you, Rhea. Then we shall see what your precious Goddess does._

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Edelgard granted her friend a reassuring smile. “It occurs to me that we have not found time to talk as of late. Let’s sojourn to the Dining Hall and speak of lighter things.”

* * *

In the end, the Viscount of Nuvelle folded quietly. He was a traditional and stubborn fellow, but he was not so bold as to risk the future of his house. His son, Daylan, complied most admirably. He was rewarded for his service with a promotion to Captain, serving directly under the heir to House Bergliez. It was more than a minor House such as his could have achieved under normal circumstances. Edelgard made certain the man understood that fact. She doubted he minded much, judging by the reverence he exuded in her presence. Daylan Nuvelle would no doubt be a staunch supporter of her rule in the years to come.

With the last beneficiary withdrawing his support, the Western Church had no choice but to flee north. From there on they would be Dimitri’s problem; not hers. She hoped they would prove themselves to be a sizable distraction. Edelgard found herself chuckling lightly as she imagined look of fury he would wear. Her brother was nothing, if not predictable. A brief ache of melancholy surfaced. It was shameful, she knew, to still think of him as such. They were not raised as siblings; did not have the chance to be. To see them now, at the furthest ends of Fόdlan, biting rabidly at each other’s throats…Mother was assuredly writhing in her grave. Her true mother, not the _thing_ that Thales paraded with her likeness. Once this was war dealt with, she would make that monster pay for desecrating her memory. _All_ of Those Who Slithered in the Dark.

Edelgard took a deep breath, and rubbed her brow. Stress curled around her neck like a viper. If the incident with Kostas had proved anything, it was that she did not truly wish for his death. Hiring the bandit had been a mistake. There had been a moment before they had met Jeralt’s men; a split second of panicked realization as Dimitri’s lance missed and Kostas held his axe high above a golden head. Edelgard had not been thinking of her plan then. Instinctively, she had pushed the boy out of the way. It was only by the grace of Claude’s arrows that the brigand did not take _her_ life instead. Dimitri had stared at her after, surprise and gratitude clear in his eyes. Edelgard could not bear to look at him then. It was shameful of her, to stoop to such underhanded methods. In the end, Edelgard resolved to face him in the light, not under shadow and subterfuge.

Still, despite everything, she did not want his blood wetting her hands. He was the closest thing she had left to a family, besides Father. Yet the former Emperor Ionius IX was on his deathbed, and getting ever sicker. Soon it would be just her. Alone again. Before attending the academy, she thought her peace had been made with that loathsome fact. But after meeting Byleth...suddenly her path appeared less isolated. As long as the woman was willing to stay by her side, her destiny would not be constrained to clawing blindly in the dark. Now, her teacher was no longer present and Dimitri was lost to her as all her siblings were. The chains that bound her felt heavier than ever.

“Edelgard!”

The Emperor blinked in momentary surprise. She turned her head and watched as Ferdinand stomped over to her. An irritated groan threatened to escape her mouth, but Edelgard caught it in time. She had sequestered herself in the Monastery garden for a reason. Most of her men were too busy for a jaunt through the hedges, or to relax beneath the gazebos. Not Ferdinand, evidently.

“Is there something pressing that requires my attention, Sir Aegir?” Edelgard set her tea cup aside. “I was under the impression nothing of import had arisen.”

“Do not play ignorant,” Ferdinand spat. The young man appeared oddly incensed, his lighthearted demeanor absent. “You know damn well why I’m here!”

“Oh? Then enlighten me. Contrary to popular belief, I do not possess the ability to read minds.” She flicked back her hair idly. “Also, do take care to address me formally in the future. In respect to our camaraderie as fellow Eagles, I will overlook it this time.”

His face clouded. The muscle of his jaw flexed.

“Kindly inform me as to why my_ father_, the venerable Prime Minister, is currently being held in Enbarr. And why am I just being informed of this?!” He paused, eyes narrowed like a hawk. “Your _Majesty_.”

“Duke Aegir is, and has always been, a traitorous upstart.” Edelgard held up a hand as Ferdinand opened his mouth to speak. “Your father never supported my claim as heir. He knew I would not tolerate his authority, and made his duplicity known on numerous occasions. Before you defend him, take a moment to evaluate his actions as they stand; not as a son but as a loyal citizen of the Empire.”

“Perhaps he’s been known to overreach, but he’s the Prime Minister.” Ferdinand calmed a little, but his scowl remained. “His position requires him to act in the Empire’s best interest. It would be negligible of him to simply nod his head whenever the Emperor bid.”

“Ferdinand, allow me to be blunt with you.” She reached for the nearby cadre of sweet-cakes. It was an embarrassing vice, her love for the sugary treats, but it reminded her dearly of the Professor. Ferdinand’s eyes followed the movement. She saw the moment it dawned on him why she was out here, anger shifting into sober reflection. Edelgard ignored this as she placed a slice upon a plate.

“Imagine, for a moment, that this is the Adrestian Empire.” Her hands curled around a nearby pastry fork. She used it to point meaningfully at the cake. “It is made up of several different ingredients, which after a long period of time becomes the finished product you see before you. Just as a baker gathers the ingredients, the Emperor is tasked with selecting a ministry of qualified individuals to help oversee the Empire itself. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose I see the logic,” He said reluctantly. “But what’s your point?”

“Patience, Sir Aegir. Now watch.” Edelgard used the fork to section the cake into seven pieces. One of them was far larger than the rest. “What was it that I just did?”

“You cut the cake. Edelgard, I really don’t see how this––”

“Not the cake, Ferdinand; remember _this_ is the Empire. Just like the fork sliced into the bread, the Insurrection of the Seven cut the Empire into several parts of varying size and power. The baker, or the Emperor in this metaphor, was unable to stop this from happening. Now, we no longer have a unified country, but rather men with conflicting agendas each deciding what would be best for the people.” She speared the largest piece. “Your father wielded the sword which made mine impotent. His own Emperor; the man he swore to serve and protect.”

“So this is about petty revenge.” The young man puffed out his chest, indignant. “I had thought better of you, Edelgard.”

“Spare me the lecture. The Professor you are not.” She gazed impassively at him. Disappointment colored her words. “Haven’t you been paying attention? The Empire is not the Alliance. A Prime Minister’s duty is to supplement the Emperor’s rule, not replace it with his own. Duke Aegir would have us divided at a time when we cannot afford to be. Faerghus and the Church will not simply wait for us to sort our politics.”

“Even if you say that, it just seems like a convenient excuse to centralize the power underneath the Emperor. Was that not what caused the Insurrection in the first place?”

“The coup was caused by men who felt entitled to more power than they had. Your father chiefly among them.” Edelgard took a bite, eyes never wavering from him. She neglected to mention her treacherous ‘uncle’. The message would only become muddled. “Let me make my stance quite clear. I will not allow what happened to my father to be repeated. The Ministry of nobles shall remain, but their capacity will be limited to an advisory role. The final say will be at the behest of the Emperor. Once the war is over, I will decentralize the power in the most efficient way possible.”

“And my father?” The tall boy’s frame seemed to shrink, his shoulders collapsing.

“Will be shown leniency if he can behave himself.” She reached for the tea kettle, and poured a second cup. Her hands were steady as she slid it in his direction. “I am not a tyrant, Ferdinand. Nor am I foolish enough to think I can do everything myself. I will need guidance, and I would prefer to be advised by someone I consider a friend. Genuinely, I believe you would be perfectly suited for the role. Will you not accept?”

“You...are asking me to be your Prime Minister?” Ferdinand drew back with surprise, his mouth agape.

“Not officially. Your father will maintain the title until matters are settled with the Church. Once the fighting is done, you will assume the position without delay. Until then, you will attend to the Ministerial duties in his stead.”

“That is...” He swallowed visibly. “I do not know what to say.”

“You may think on it, if you wish. I can wait. But do not tarry for too long. I will need you in the days to come.” She placed another piece of cake on her tongue. Ferdinand’s eyes were wide, the information taking time to sink in. It was a calculated move on her behalf; to appeal to his pride. While generally even-tempered, his sense of self-importance could not be denied. He rubbed the back of his neck, finger’s grazing the length of his hair. The boy had refrained from grooming of late, too consumed by the war as they all were. He looked somewhat feminine now, but Edelgard refrained from commenting on it. Ferdinand was terribly self-conscious despite his bravado. After a period of silent reflection, he bobbed his head.

“Then I suppose there is only one proper thing to do.” Ferdinand straightened his cravat. Then he reached for the offered cup, and took a small sip. A wordless submission. “Very well, Your Majesty, I accept your proposal. I look forward to guiding you in the future.”

“As do I.” Edelgard polished off her dessert. She expected to feel a fleeting amount of guilt, but it never came. Manipulation had never been a favored weapon of hers. It tended to embody everything she hated about the nobility. The lack of regret she felt was a bit distressing. Perhaps this was merely a sign her actions were righteous. If it was for the Empire, there was no measure that was too extreme.

_Are you sure about that?_

Her mind whispered the words, voice and inflection a mirror of Byleth’s. Edelgard flinched. Her fork dropped to the table with a hollow clang. Thankfully, Ferdinand did not appear to notice. The young man was in the midst of a low bow, his feet already positioned to take him away.

“I shall take my leave now. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Your Majesty.”

As Ferdinand left, he seemed to steal the warmth of day with him. The garden grew cold, wind howling as the sun disappeared behind thick clouds. Edelgard did not reach back for her tea. The sudden bitterness on her tongue had ruined her appetite.

* * *

Word soon came from the northern border. The esteemed Lady Rhea of the Central Church had formally allied with the King of Faerghus, and declared war against the heretical Adrestian Empire. Those of Imperial allegiance and blood were to be cast from Faerghus, disregarding past service to the Holy crown or marital alliance.A proclamation was sent with them. The Twin-headed Eagle would burn.

King Dimitri sent his own declaration within the border land of Arundel, the seat of the Regent himself. His soldiers arrived in mass, and a tide of blue settled over the city. The common folk were thrown into disarray, convinced they were besieged by foreign occupation. Then, in a matter of days, the soldiers were gone. For what purpose they came, no one could say. The Lord Regent had but one answer. The ties between the houses of Arundel and Blaiddyd were gone, and the past would remain with the dead.

In the midst of these happenings, the Empire continued its push east. The Leicester Alliance had proven to be a crafty neighbor, even more so with Claude von Riegan at its head. However, Emperor Edelgard was convinced an agreement could be reached. While the Alliance maintained neutrality, she knew there were those within its borders who supported the Empire. The only obstacle was House Riegan itself. In the meantime, Claude’s men had proved troublesome indeed.

“Fall back!”

Arrows rained from above in a shower of steel. The whistling shriek of fletching rang within her ears. Edelgard cursed as she was forced to take shelter beneath a nearby bridge. Petra and Caspar were at her side, both panting heavily. The princess of Brigid was muttering something under her breath; the words foreign and harsh.

“I don’t know what you said, but I agree completely.” Caspar laughed wearily. He sobered as he turned to look at his Emperor. “What do we do now?”

“Hold for now. Let me think.” Edelgard lowered her axe, and scanned the field. Her mind turned rapidly. She hadn’t been expecting an ambush, especially not by the Alliance. Claude had been pointedly lax in establishing his allegiance, and maintained the illusion of Leicester’s neutrality. This was the most aggressive action he had taken thus far. Truthfully, she should have anticipated something like this to occur.

Just a week ago Hubert had gotten word that House Gloucester wanted to discuss a possible alliance. The letter stated they were prepared to offer their heir, Lorenz, as a ward of the Empire and their influence in future negotiations with Alliance nobility. In exchange, House Gloucester was to be exempt from turmoil should the Alliance fall to Imperial rule. It was an intriguing offer, though Edelgard personally had little dealings with House Gloucester in the past. She barely remembered Lorenz himself, though Lysithea had nothing but scornful things to say of the boy. Still, Edelgard was not willing to spurn a potential ally. Gloucester was rich in resources; agriculture chiefly among them. The war could not be won with steel alone.

Now, it was clear that was only a ruse. They were trapped, and the bulk of her forces were still at Garreg Mach. She stared hard at the rolling hills to the east. Yellow banners fluttered in the wind, the Riegan crest emblazoned upon them. In the sky, a platoon of Wyvern riders hovered ominously. She squinted at one of them. The distant figure was wreathed in gold, a bow hanging non-nonchalantly over his shoulder. Claude von Riegan. Edelgard snarled as she spotted him nock an arrow, his aim directed at her fleeing men. Thankfully, a Pegasus Knight threw a javelin at his mount. The wyvern veered, and Claude’s arrow was sent askew. The Knight soared past him, as if to mock his effort, before veering towards the retreating Imperial forces. Edelgard made a mental note to thank Ingrid later.

“They have the high ground, and a score of archers lying in wait. We can do nothing now, except retreat.” Edelgard swallowed roughly. It was bitter, this taste of defeat. She had forgotten what it felt like. Under Byleth, the Black Eagles had been indomitable. Even in dire straights such as these, she was certain the woman would have found a way. Had the Professor been here...no. There wasn’t any time for regret. Her men needed her. “Caspar, rally the rearguard and fall back to the forest. Petra, find Sylvain and take our riders to the river. We can lose them once we cross Myrddin, and head to Hyrm to regroup.”

“I shall be doing this.”

“You got it!”

They darted out from beneath the bridge, shields raised. Stray arrows pelted them as they retreated. Claude’s men were relentless in their volley. Edelgard took a steadying breath, and clutched her axe tight. Unlike the others, she had forgone a shield in favor of mobility. She hoped the lack of forethought wouldn’t be her undoing. Her eyes roved the plains, and waited for an opening.

“Your Majesty!”

Then, the archers were suddenly halted. A thick cloud of miasma imploded around them, scattering their number. Edelgard looked up as she heard the beat of wings. An unlikely hero in the form of Leonie swept down from above. Lysithea was at her back, appearing vaguely ill. The small girl swept out her hand, and a golden mist bathed Edelgard head to toe. She straightened, reinvigorated by the magic. Leonie smirked imperiously from atop her Pegasus.

“You look like you could use the help. Need a hand?”

Edelgard pursed her lips, hackles raised. Of the two former Deer, Leonie was the only one who irked her without fail. Still, the girl was a valued member of her Strike Force and the Professor held _some_ degree of affection for the commoner. Jeralt’s lingering influence no doubt. A certain amount of clemency was needed.

“Good work, you two. Do we have eyes on Claude’s vanguard? Are they advancing?”

“Not yet,” Lysithea murmured, her features still wan. “Claude’s keeping them on the main road, but I saw another group of Wyvern Riders headed our way. We need to leave; fast.”

“I happen to agree.” Edelgard frowned up at the clouds. Her flying unit was new, and untested. They would not be able to square off against Claude’s wyverns as they were. It would hardly be a fair fight, considering the amount of archers positioned to snipe them from the sky. Say what you will about Claude, the man was dangerously shrewd. She would not make the mistake of underestimating him twice. “We need to retreat back to Myrddin. Sadly, House Riegan has won the day.”

“Piss.” Leonie scowled, but did not argue. “Old Claude has got more tricks than I remember. Well, too late to look back now. Come on, Your Imperial Highness. Hop on up.”

“Ugh, we’re flying again.” Lysithea wrinkled her nose. She scooted closer to Leonie, making room for the Emperor. It would be a tight fit. Pegasi were not made for three riders. Edelgard patted the animal on the nose in apology. Then she clambered up its feathered back.

“Let’s be off. Hopefully we can get to the southern edge of Fόdlan's Throat by dusk.”

With a yip, Leonie kicked her heels and they were off. The Pegasus struggled at first, but it forged admirably on. Great white wings flapped against the rising wind, propelling them up into the horizon. Edelgard twisted her head, and watched as the Leicester soldiers became mere specks along the ground. The Gloucester Plains stretched as far as the eye could see. She felt a flicker of rage. The duplicitous nature of _that_ House would not be forgotten. They would rue the day they made a fool of her. Edelgard would make good on that promise. As they breached the clouds, she spotted a flurry of wyverns in the distance. Claude’s reinforcements. Had her men attempted to hold their ground, it would have been a slaughter. Leonie steered them south towards the winding Airmid river.

“I think I can see Ingrid!” Leonie shouted above the wind. “Wait. Is she turning back?”

“She’s likely providing air support for the remaining cavalry. Whatever her reasons, I trust her judgment.”

“Uh-huh.” Leonie craned her head. Her orange hair whipped around chaotically. “You know, you could have made _me_ head of the Pegasus Corps. Since I don’t got any shady connections, or fancy Kingdom house, aren’t I the better choice?”

“You’re a proficient flier, Leonie. However, Ingrid has more practical experience. A talent for leadership as well. Despite her past affiliation, Ingrid has shown only loyalty to our cause. Her sacrifice has been rightly rewarded.”

“Hmph. I gave up a lot too, you know,” Leonie sniffed under her breath. Edelgard graciously pretended not to hear her.

“Can you guys talk about this later?” Lysithea, who had been conspicuously silent, groaned. The small girl clutched at Leonie’s chain-mail. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“H-Hey, you better not do that on me!”

Edelgard restrained an exasperated sigh. There were days when she wondered at the wisdom of recruiting outside of Adrestia. Lysithea was fine company, but the other girl...well; that was a question for the Professor. Whenever she returned. Edelgard pushed against the tide of her melancholy, and refocused. Idly, she noted that Leonie was flying rather low. While not inherently terrible an idea, it did make their escape somewhat languid.

“Leonie, try to get us higher. We need to put as much distance between us and those wyverns.”

“Calm down, Your Majesty. I got this.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

“Yeah and I’m ignoring it. Look, I can see our banners just past that ridge.”

“Do not be so complacent! We need to reach Hyrm before––”

A searing pain stole away her breath. It spread along her shoulder like fire, originating near the socket. Edelgard opened her mouth, only to gasp as the sensation was repeated. Once. Twice. Thrice. Her body lurched, and tilted off the Pegasus into the open sky.

“Your Majesty?!” An echoed chorus of Lysithea and Leonie hit the air. Their voices followed her down as she tumbled. Her eyes stared up in shock, catching on gilded plate and scaled wings. Claude; an incorrigible annoyance to the last._How undignified, to die like this. _Wearily, Edelgard closed her eyes as the world rushed past her ears. She wondered whether her family would be waiting for her; her Mother and dearest siblings. Father was sure to join them shortly.

_Will I see you too, Professor?_

Her thoughts were halted as something slammed into her back. Curiously, it did not feel like the ground, nor had it killed her outright. Edelgard’s eyes snapped open. Blearily, she stared in open wonder at long blonde hair and worried green eyes. Ingrid. The other woman had caught her mid fall. It was impossible as it was true, and the Emperor could only chuckle at the denial of the Goddess’ vengeance. It would seem her death would not be today.

_Of course. How could I forget?_

Her destiny was already written, and no amount of interference could stop it. She had made a promise, after all. Claude, Dimitri, Rhea. They were nothing in the tableau of her fate. Edelgard pressed her face against the feathered hide of the Pegasus. She paid no heed to the blood staining her chest and trickling down her fingers. Her eyes slid shut, and she slipped into pleasant dreams.

_I’m sorry, everyone. _ _We’ll meet again, but not today._

* * *

“You are making a habit of this.”

Linhardt frowned down at her. His dark blue gaze was censuring.

“Honestly, Your Majesty. I have half a mind to reserve this bed just for you.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Linhardt, it’s unbecoming.” Edelgard shifted in the bed, wincing as the movement stretched her wounds. Three arrows had pierced through her mail like butter. It had been a laborious task to retrieve them from her flesh. Only one had broken cleanly through; the other two needed to be dug up like weeds. It was a nauseating comparison, one Edelgard regretted as she recalled the excruciating pain. Thankfully, the tips weren’t coated in poison. It came as a great relief since she did not put the notion past Claude. The young Reigan had proven to be quite under-handed.

“What’s _unbecoming_ is for our Emperor to be constantly on her deathbed.” Linhardt pursed his lips together in a firm line. “You’re lucky Ingrid returned when she did. Even if you had survived the fall, which is doubtful, the blood loss would have been enough to kill you. To my understanding, you yet live by the grace of a spare Concoction.”

“Small mercies, but enough to turn the coin of fate.” She thumbed the bandaging wrapped along her neck. “The Goddess, or whatever power that be, has plans for me yet. I will not be so easily cast aside, nor prevented from achieving my goals. I promise you that.”

“Arrogance has a place in time, Emperor, but not when standing at death’s door.”

“Should I not be proud? I stood on the precipice twice, and lived. Few others can make that same claim.”

Linhardt’s brow creased. He tossed his bangs, and huffed.

“Very well. Think what you will, I cannot convince you. Tell Hubert I’ll not be held accountable should the inevitable pass. I would like to keep my life.”

“You have my eternal gratitude.” Edelgard changed her attention to the infirmary door. While not unheard of, it was unlike her Eagles to leave her alone. Most days, they troubled themselves over her incessantly; Hubert being the worst offender. It was odd, she realized, that no one save Linhardt had approached her upon waking. It was possible they were simply letting her rest, but Edelgard doubted that. Ferdinand in particular had been her insufferable shadow as of late.

“Where are the others? Surely they all made it back to Garreg Mach?”

“They are...fine,” Linhardt stated. His tone was strangely subdued. “Actually, we were planning to gather in the cathedral once you woke. Do you feel up to it?”

“The cathedral.” Edelgard mulled the word over, and stared vacantly at her sheets. “I don’t understand. Why there?”

“It was Dorothea’s idea. She wishes to hold something of a vigil, in honor of those who lost their lives in Gloucester.” He paused, hesitating. “I know you look down on worship, but many of our number still hold the Goddess dear. It would not be a terrible idea to show support of the fallen. Even if only from a strategic point of view.”

“...The idea holds merit. I will grant it that much.” Edelgard admitted. Personally, she despised the ingrained desire to seek godly favor. Church of Seiros aside, she had always viewed those beholden to the Goddess as weak. Her Mother, King Lambert, her siblings...what good did their worship do them? Nothing. Still, she was not ignorant of the beliefs many of her followers held. It granted them the strength to carry on, even if it was a false assurance. Edelgard could not deny them the comfort of a sweet lie. Not when they had so little left to believe in. Loyalty to the Empire could only go so far, if the Emperor was not willing to compromise.

“Then…?”

“I will join you. It would be good to move around after sleeping for so long.” Edelgard blinked as something occurred to her. “Speaking of, how long was I out exactly?”

“Merely a few days. You did not miss much, I assure you.” Linhardt walked to a nearby cabinet, fetching something from within. He turned slowly back to her, and bowed. In his arms was the crimson cloak she had taken to wearing recently. The Twin-headed eagle of the Adrestian Empire was stitched proudly in gold upon its back. “Your Majesty, if I may?”

“You’re being unusually courteous, Linhardt. Are you sure there is nothing I need to know about?” Edelgard smiled at him in bemusement. She crawled gingerly out of the bedding, letting the young man drape the cloak around her shoulders. Linhardt smiled, but it looked stilted. His eyes were wary, as if in preparation of something.

“I am merely overcome with relief at Her Majesty’s recovery. The other’s will be too, I’m certain. Shall we be off?”

While they had kept Manuela's infirmary within the central building, many of the dormitory quarters had been re-purposed as clinics. Trekking across the grounds, Edelgard spotted countless Bishops tending to patients inside such rooms. It was a sobering reminder of the blow Claude had dealt them. She vowed their sacrifice would not be in vain. Yet another weight to bear in an ever increasing burden. They walked slowly, Linhardt ever conscious of his Emperor’s wilted strength. Edelgard would have been offended had she the energy for it. She continued on, determined to not be seen as frail in her subordinate’s eyes. The cathedral was a long walk on a good day. Now, it was pure agony.

As they approached the great bridge, Edelgard spotted a few of her Eagles at the gate. Bernadetta, Leonie, and Caspar. An odd trio, to be certain. The latter two appeared deep in conversation, with Leonie scowling hard at her feet. Bernadetta merely fidgeted at Caspar’s side, hands twisting nervously in front of her. The girl’s head shot up as they strode towards them. Big, gray eyes widened even further, lending Bernadetta a near comically startled appearance.

“Y-Y-Your Majesty!” The girl jerked before performing something between a bow and a curtsy. It was clumsy, but endearing nonetheless. Her companions ceased their conversation. Their heads whirled to face her; Caspar grinning and Leonie withdrawn.

“Edelgard! Finally awake, huh?” The boy’s face was bright, his diminutive frame practically bursting with joy. Caspar; ever the type to wear his heart upon his sleeve. If nothing else, Edelgard knew deception would never come from his side of House Bergliez. Her attention changed to the girl across from him. Leonie’s eyes were averted; downcast.

“I’m glad you’re well, Your Majesty,” She said gravely. Her head remained bowed. “I hope you can forgive me for failing you in Gloucester. It will not happen again.”

Edelgard stared at her evenly. She tilted her head forward in acknowledgment. They would need to clear the air at some point, but the Emperor was content to leave it alone for now. Dealing with Leonie was a task for another day. The girl’s insubordination would not go without harsh reprimand. It seemed Leonie was aware of that as well, if her chastened attitude was any indicator.

“We’ll talk more about this later. Until then, let us focus on today’s event. Are the others already inside?”

“Dorothea and Manuela are conducting the service. I think they’re going to start soon.” Caspar shrugged, fingers interlaced behind his head. “I don’t know about everyone else.”

“I s-saw Petra and Ferdinand earlier,” Bernadetta revealed. She peered up anxiously at Linhardt before shifting to her Emperor. “Um, a lot of the survivors from Gloucester too.”

“Then let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?” Linhardt held out a hand, and motioned for Edelgard to take the lead. “After you, Your Majesty.”

“Your deference is making me nervous, Linhardt. I will be rather cross if this doesn’t end up being a vigil as you say.” Edelgard eyed the boy for a long moment. Behind him, she spotted Bernadetta and Caspar trading a befuddled glance. Suspicion flared within her chest.

“Nothing of the sort, Lady Edelgard.” He said smoothly. A pale hand ran casually through his hair.

“As you say.” She flicked her gaze to the cathedral entrance. From her position, she could see a throng of people milling about. Most were holding candles, and clutched them to their chest in solemn contemplation. A few were knelt before the ruined statue of Seiros, swords drawn and pressed to the ground. Edelgard bristled. The worship of the Goddess was one matter, but to still hold the visage of Seiros sacred was another. She bit her tongue, even as her ire flared. This was a ceremony to celebrate the fallen, not to cater to her own spite. The Emperor would refrain from chiding them, for now.

As she walked into the cathedral the crowd seemed to still. The people looked at her; awe and intimidation heavy in their eyes. Dorothea and Manuela, true to what Linhardt had said, were positioned in the cathedral’s center. The former drew back in surprise as she spotted them. Dorothea’s expression was curiously unreadable for a long moment. Then the girl smiled faintly. At her side, Manuela nodded her head in acknowledgment before casting her gaze over the amassed gathering. Edelgard noticed that many of her Strike Force were seated in the pews.

She easily spotted the unruly mane of Ferdinand, and Petra’s long braid. Ahead of them, the shock of Lysithea’s ashen hair could just be seen. The remaining few she had yet to see were the Kingdom nobles and Hubert. Idly, Edelgard pondered if their absence was related. Suddenly, Dorothea clapped her hands once. The girl cleared her throat, and soon the light conversation around them dwindled to nothing.

“Thank you everyone, for attending this service.” Her voice was strong, as high and clear as it ever was on the operatic stage. “As you are all aware, we lost many good men and women recently. What happened at Gloucester...was a tragedy. But we shall carry the memory of those brave soldiers with us, and know that they died for a cause worth fighting for.”

“Let us celebrate the lives they had lived, and not the end that robbed them from us.” Manuela stepped forward. She smiled thinly, gaze solemn. “A moment of silence if you will, as we think of their peerless courage.”

Edelgard observed as people bowed their heads. The cathedral was still, not even the clink of armor could be heard. Somewhere off to the right, a woman was suppressing her sobs. Several within the gathering wiped at their eyes, cheeks wet with grief. Dorothea’s face crumpled, but Manuela kept her professional facade.

“This war has claimed many already, but do not be disheartened. While Rhea was a false idol, the Goddess still watches over her children. Even those who are not pious.” The ex-professor’s eyes drifted to Edelgard. Her stare was pointed; near accusing. “Do you have any words to add, Emperor?”

The mass of people turned to look at her as one. Momentarily, she considered declining. This was a gathering of the devoted, those who still believed and worshiped at the Goddess’s feet. Edelgard feared her words would only incite malcontent should she make a misstep. The soldiers at Garreg Mach were for the most part loyal, but tensions were high after the incident at Gloucester. Would they really appreciate any paltry assurances she had to offer? Edelgard spied a particularly distraught servant. The woman gazed at her beseechingly, eyes watery and wide. In her work-rough hands a silver ring lay. It’s pair was hanging from a cord around her neck. Edelgard breathed in, and relented.

“I will not lie to you.” She began softly, stepping forward. “The Empire was dealt a heavy blow in Gloucester. Great men and woman lost their lives due to the Alliance’s machinations.” Edelgard raised her chin. Her voice grew in strength. “However, we cannot lose hope. This was a cowardly act, made by a craven boy of House Riegan. He will be made to answer for his crimes, as they all will.”

She paused, eyes lingering over her rapt audience.

“The Empire _will_ prevail. Rhea and her followers _will_ fall, and the Kingdom and Alliance will become _nothing_ more than a bad memory. Do not let the actions of cowards sway you from your purpose.”

Edelgard pressed a hand over her heart.

“Together, we shall carve out a brighter future. One without false prophets, or a corrupt nobility. Every man will be worthy of more than what he was granted at birth. Until then, please, remember the fallen. Fight in their name. Most of all, trust in _me_. A new dawn is on the horizon, but first we must weather the dark.”

“Hear, hear!” Caspar piped up from beside her. His sky blue eyes were bright. The Cathedral remained sedate, but wonder had joined with their grief. The crowd stared at her with tangible hope. The servant from before had started weeping anew, but relief had replaced her pleading expression. It was not enough, Edelgard knew that well. Justice was a cause without a definable end. It was a harsh lesson for those who still held to lofty ideals. But for now, it was all she could offer them.

“Well said, Your Majesty.” Manuela inclined her head. A distinct feeling of approval hung about her. It was surprising, to see the woman express such an emotion in regards to her. Of all the remaining devout, Manuela had made her initial disdain for the Empire’s plans clear. Truthfully, Edelgard was unsure why the opera singer remained at Garreg Mach in the first place. Perhaps it was only a truth Byleth would know. Yet another question to ask her wayward Professor. “Now, let us pay tribute to the fallen in a song. Would you like to do the honors, Dorothea?”

The young woman, who had been lost in thought, startled slightly. Her gaze wavered upon Edelgard, long enough to cause some minor concern. The Emperor frowned. Had Dorothea taken issue with her speech? Or was there something else on the girl’s mind? At last, Dorothea cleared her throat.

“Of course, Professor.” She suddenly stopped, lingering upon the title. Her expression fell, eyes betraying a struggle of some sort. In Edelgard’s periphery, she spotted Linhardt stiffen at her side.

“Actually...I have something more to add.”

A perplexed murmur traveled throughout the chamber. To Edelgard’s confusion, she spotted Ferdinand gesture frantically at the songstress. For what purpose, she could not say. Dorothea ignored him, and continued on.

“Manuela and I both agreed that we should hold this ceremony today. While some may have forgotten, or were perhaps not with us at that time...”

Disquiet skittered down Edelgard’s spine like a rat’s clawed feet. Her heart thrummed anxiously as her mind spun, parsing the days she must have spent unconscious. Suddenly, it dawned on her; the truth as inexorable as it was terrible. _Today. Today is..._

“One year ago, many were lost in the attack on Garreg Mach.” Dorothea breathed out shakily. “Among their number...was a beloved teacher.”

Suddenly, Linhardt’s courtesy and Dorothea’s strained looks made terrible sense. Edelgard took a sharp, painful breath. _Don’t. Please._

“Professor Byleth was a friend to the Empire. A friend to us all. Without her...all of this would never have been possible. She was a great woman, stolen from us much too soon.”

_Don’t say that! She isn’t– _Edelgard bit her lip. An icy chill had taken her body, merciless and crippling. She wanted to scream, but remained frozen. Her lungs felt like they were collapsing under their own weight.

“She died a hero, giving everything in the name of freedom. I dedicate this song in her name, as well as for all the brave souls who believed in a better––”

Edelgard turned on her heel. She strode purposefully to the cathedral gate, not looking back at the surprised soldiers she had left. More than few people stared at her retreating form, but she paid them little heed. Caspar’s voice called after her, but she did not hear what was said. Dorothea’s voice rose and lilted at her back, haunting. Mocking.

* * *

It was mercifully quiet at the docks. The water was still as glass, only the barest of shadows seen beneath the surface. It was a cool revelation upon her skin as Edelgard dipped her heels. She was glad she had foregone her stockings. The wind would surely steal them away from her, as strong as it was. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the weathered wood.

How many times had she seen her teacher here? The woman would stand placidly on the dock, fishing rod in hand. A curious expression would be on her face, neither happy nor sad. Just...content. Edelgard had stared at her often from the dining hall. She remembered feeling envious of the peace Byleth had found. For her, it was a constant struggle to maintain her veneer of serenity. To not betray her goals under the Archbishop’s surveillance. To keep Thales appeased and out of her way. To be the steadying force of reason within her House, and not a barely functioning girl breaking under the yoke of responsibility. Perhaps it wasn’t fair; the other woman hardly shouldered the same burdens as she. Edelgard regretted thinking such petty thoughts now. What would she sacrifice, to see Byleth standing here again?

Her teacher had invited her once, in between cups of tea and sweets. Edelgard had declined swiftly. It was a waste of effort in her opinion, though she never dared to say that aloud. There was also her crippling fear she would make a fool of herself. Future Emperors did not spend their days fishing, even if so inclined. In her ineptitude, she was likely to gouge herself on a hook or drown in the embarrassingly small pond. Byleth had not pressed the subject, though she did stare at her thoughtfully afterward. Edelgard wondered what the Professor had been thinking then. Was the woman merely disappointed at her refusal? Or was she able to see the insecurities that held her back? It was hard to tell, unreadable as she was. Byleth’s eyes were dark with mysteries she would never reveal, as impenetrable as the ocean itself.

The faint sound of footsteps drew her from thought. The Emperor sat up, and straightened her rumpled cloak. The person stopped resolutely at her back, heels clicking along the wood planks. She recognized that careful gait.

“Hubert,” Edelgard greeted softly. She kept her gaze to the water. “Is there something that requires my attention?”

“No, Your Majesty,” The young man spoke evenly, his inflection the same as ever. Her retainer was reliable in that way. “I was merely concerned by your absence. The young Bergliez and Hevring were quite _insistent_ I find you.”

“I suppose they would be.” Edelgard brushed back her hair, tone non-committal. She felt the barest whisper of scales along her foot. It reminded her of one unpleasant creature in particular. “Did you know?”

“Pardon, Your Majesty?” Hubert did not move, but she could hear him shifting his weight. The creak of the dock gave him away.

“Do not play ignorant, Hubert. I find my patience tested already.” She lifted a heel, and languidly skimmed it through the water. There was a protracted silence.

“I was aware of their intentions,” He relented at last. “However, I was under the impression you were not to be in attendance. When I discovered otherwise, I was quite _cross_.”

“Hmm. Then I can safely assume this was Linhardt’s doing. Perhaps Dorothea as well.” Edelgard mused. She could not keep the venom from her voice. The Emperor despised duplicity, especially from those she held in high regard. Linhardt was too intelligent not to anticipate her wrath. Dorothea...that was a cut she had not anticipated. The other girl had to know it would hurt her terribly. To be subjected to a _funeral_ service in honor of––

Edelgard covered her mouth. The sheer audacity infuriated her; as did the presumption. Their teacher was not a corpse to be paraded in the name of the Empire. Nor was she dead, as Dorothea so confidently stated. What nonsense! What baseless drivel!Edelgard would not entertain such thoughts.

_It’s been a full year and yet no word, _something whispered to her traitorously. _Will you wallow in denial forever? _A memory came to her, vivid and painful. Byleth in the shadow of monstrous wings. Hair, now the same mossy hue as Rhea’s, blowing carelessly in the wind. Certain, powerful, unafraid. A woman who faced a titan and denied its divinity. _But at what cost?_

“Despite the deceit, I do not believe their actions to be malicious,” Hubert spoke again. He walked slowly to her side, allowing his tall profile to be seen. A pondering frown lay on his mouth. “This pains me to say, but I do think they had Her Majesty’s well-being in mind.”

“You’re defending them.” Edelgard assessed him, gaze hard. “Odd. I thought you would relish the chance to put them in their place. Or do you approve of their heavy-handed attempt to have me accept the Professor’s death.”

“The goal was obvious. But allow me to say that their methods are not entirely ill-advised.” He bowed his head in subservience. “A few weeks ago, Dorothea approached me with the idea of this service. I was against it, naturally, but the girl did make a good case. The people needed a chance to grieve, for morale if nothing else. She asked me if it would be wise to include the Professor’s name within the proceedings. I said no at first, but...”

“You approved of this,” Edelgard finished the thought balefully. She swallowed thickly, feeling a bit betrayed. “Do you detest Byleth that much? I thought you––”

“You misunderstand, My Lady. While that woman was a questionable presence in your life, I hardly celebrated the way she left it.” Hubert tilted his head up, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You care for her greatly. I would never disregard the pain you feel. To that end, is it not my duty to help relieve it? A year has passed, and the Professor has not returned. You have never shied from an uncomfortable truth before. So I find it perplexing why you do so now.”

“I shy from nothing!” Edelgard curled her hands around the dock’s edge. The shaved wood gouged into her fingers. “Not from what happened in Duscur, not from Thales, and certainly not now!”

“That is true. And I believed with time, you would come to see reason. Which is why I forbid the rest of the Strike Force to force your attendance. Conveniently, Linhardt was asleep at the time.” Hubert wrinkled his nose with distaste. “In that way, I did fail to protect you. You may punish me and them as you see fit. I will not protest.”

Edelgard peered up at him, eyes narrowed. Her jaw was locked with tension. For a moment, she was tempted to do as he bid. This _stunt_ had wounded her immeasurably; a stark reminder of what had been lost. It was hard to believe Hubert had taken part in this, no matter how innocuous the role. She curtailed the desire to lash out at him. Despite her anger, she could recognize his point of view. The others had lost faith in their Professor ever returning to them, their hope eroded from a year’s harsh passing. Hubert himself had doubted her survival from the start. In their eyes, Edelgard had willfully blinded herself to reality. A small part of her, weak as it was, wondered the same.

“That will be unnecessary, Hubert. As for Dorothea and the rest...I will deal with them another time.” Edelgard turned her back to him. She watched the water begin to shift, thrown into turbulence by the growing wind. Hubert said nothing more, but she heard the telltale shift of his clothing. Soon, the sound of his footsteps echoed in her ears and she was alone once more.

**Next Chapter: The Year of Snakes and Lions**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whew! That was a doozy. One thing I would like to remind everyone is that this work takes significant liberty with canon details. So if DLC, or supplementary Three Houses works contradict what is written; let's just call this story AU. I personally believe TWSiTD are pod people and not the original individuals(not sure if this is confirmed or denied in GD, but tell me if so). This is why 'Volkhard' will primarily be referred to as Thales or Lord Regent in El's mind. I also headcanon that Patricia was not involved in The Tragedy of Duscur as Cornelia implied, at least willingly. I'll be delving more into that later.  
As for certain characterizations, try to keep in mind that they are still young adults who are prone to making mistakes. Edelgard is not an exception. One thing I wanted to strive for was to keep her moral ambiguity, while also not downplaying the sinister actions she took before meeting Byleth. Is she right? Is she wrong? I wanted those questions to remain with the reader. I'm not sure if I can entirely do her justice, but I'm going to try! The scene in the cathedral may come across as strange, but it was necessary for an upcoming scene that I planned out with Dorothea and Edie.  
Another thing that will be explored is the dynamic between Dimitri and Edelgard. I love them both, though admittedly El more-so, and I think it's a shame we couldn't get more interactions of a non-violent sort. Don't worry, they will be explored in a platonic manner ONLY as I do not ship siblings of any kind. Not to look down on people who do, it's just not my cup of tea. Plus, they would make a cute sibling duo in another life. (maybe I'll write that after if there's interest.) If there are any egregious spelling errors don't hesitate to notify me as I do not have a proofreader.  
I'm going to try to keep to a weekly update schedule after this chapter, maybe on mondays/tuesdays, so please look froward to that!  
Thank you! - AdraCat


	3. The Year of Snakes and Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past haunts everyone is different ways. Some recover, and others remain strangled by memory.  
An Emperor and King meet once more.  
Also known as: Dimitri is very angry, and Edelgard deals with that poorly.  
Then a wild Dorothea appears. Some tea may be involved...

**Chapter 2 – The Year of Snakes and Lions**

Time passed in listless ennui. The Monastery residents were particularly sedate. The Emperor was loathe to admit that she was wallowing, such weakness was usually beyond her, but it soon became irrefutable. Edelgard avoided her Eagles deftly, even those who seemingly did not participate in that farce. Linhardt attempted to approach her several times. She pointedly ignored him. As for Dorothea, the girl kept to herself. She did not go out of her way to avoid her Emperor, but it was evident by her averted gaze that the other woman’s wroth was not lost upon her. Though vexed as she was, Edelgard did not punish them in the wake of the service. She did not consider herself petty, nor did she wish to alienate them. Not truly. So the Emperor merely concentrated on other matters. Work was plentiful, as it always was, and provided a decent distraction.

When word of Arundel’s temporary siege finally reached Garreg Mach, she was incensed. Letter upon letter was sent to the Lord Regent. Edelgard demanded he explain himself; why did he not seek assistance from her forces, and why had he said nothing in the interim since? Thales had little to write. _It did not seem necessary_, one infuriating line stated. _The King was cordial_, said another. Edelgard did not believe him. Whatever words were exchanged, her spies within the Lord Regent’s manor could not say. Either that, or they were bribed to keep silent. It sat uneasily with her. Dimitri had avoided an aggressive stance in this war, but she was not naive to think it would remain that way. If Thales spurred his ire...there was no way to gauge how the young King would react. In the end, it was just another headache in a long sequence of them. Answers were middling within her own ken. So she decided to seek them elsewhere.

“Ingrid.” Edelgard found the woman at the stables. She was brushing the feathery mane of her mount, her expression focused. At the Emperor’s call, Ingrid stilled. A few strands of golden hair fell into her face as she blinked in surprise.

“Your Majesty,” Ingrid greeted her liege with a bow, hand clasped to her chest. “How are you this morning?”

“Well enough.” Edelgard walked up to the woman’s Pegasus, hand outstretched. The animal huffed in contentment as she petted its nose. When she pulled her hand away a lumpy tongue skimmed her palm. “He’s a charming fellow, isn’t he?”

“Only when there's something in it for him.” Ingrid’s tone was fond, as was the soft look in her eyes. It was evident she cared for the beast greatly. It reminded Edelgard of her own horses in the capital, though she was certain they had since been sold off on Lord Arundel’s order. Thales did not tolerate interests outside warfare and ruling the Empire. Horse riding for the joy of it, fell firmly outside that description. In his words, it was an idle fancy best left to commoners and nobles with little to inherit. She had stood her ground while in Enbarr, and eventually persuaded him to relent. Her favorite, a flaxen mare with a speckled nose, came to mind as she patted the Pegasus again.

“Is he the one you rode in Gloucester?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Ingrid scratched the mount’s sturdy neck with pride. “The fastest and strongest Pegasus in the stable, if you don’t mind my bias.”

“Not at all,” The Emperor stated, gracing the Pegasus with an appreciative smile. “His merits are well earned. He did manage to save my life, after all, as did you.” A calculated pause. “I never did thank you for that, did I? My apologies, Ingrid.”

“There’s no need. Any soldier in my position would have done the same.” The blonde woman tilted her head down, a faint look of discomfort on her face. “I regret that I did not spot Claude’s trap before it was sprung. Had I paid more attention, Her Majesty would not have been put in that position.”

“I pay little mind to what _might_ have happened. On the field of battle, there is only one reality. And that is life or death,” Edelgard hummed thoughtfully. “Make no mistake, Ingrid of House Galatea, I owe you a great debt indeed. Should the time come when you wish to collect it, I will gladly listen.”

“If you insist, Your Majesty.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Ingrid continued her mount’s grooming, brushing away a few clumps of mud that had gathered under white feathers. The Pegasus grunted when bristles caught on a particularly tangled knot. Edelgard watched as the other woman offered the beast a carrot in response. The action stirred old memories.

“In the early days of the Empire, it was said that only maidens of pure heart could ride a Pegasus. I always wondered if there was some truth to those legends.” Edelgard watched as long, tapered wings ruffled in the breeze. “I tried to ride one once, when I lived in the Kingdom.”

“Did you?” Ingrid looked to her with interest, suddenly far more alert. The Emperor could surmise the reason why. It wasn’t a secret that she never talked about the past, and never concerning her days in Faerghus. Dimitri had tried, awkwardly and not without many false starts. Edelgard feigned incomprehension whenever he had brought the matter up. The only person she had willingly shared anything with had been Byleth. Even that occurrence only happened because of her night terrors, and the Professor’s clear concern. But this was an innocuous matter, which would lead neatly into what she hoped to ask the other girl.

“King Lambert had bought Mother one as a wedding gift. Apparently, becoming a Pegasus Knight had been a girlhood dream of hers...” Edelgard trailed off. She recalled her mother beaming at her new husband, drawing the man into a loving embrace. To many, her enthusiasm was seen as odd. The union between Patricia of House Arundel and King Lambert Blaiddyd had been politically motivated rather than natural. Yet her mother did love him, or was beginning to, from what she could tell. It had pained her then, to see the woman find happiness with someone other than Father. The day the King presented the Pegasus, she had ignored the man coldly and ran past him to coo up at the winged steed. To Lambert’s credit, he had taken it in good humor.

“_She’s just like you, Patricia!” He had laughed, his fair head wreathed in sunlight. “__Goddess help me, soon we’ll be overrun with these Arundel girls. Eh, Dimitri?”_

“Your Majesty?”

Edelgard was startled, Ingrid’s voice taking her out from that distant day. She cleared her throat and continued the story.

“After that, Mother had hired a riding instructor. She had taken to it easily enough. But I was much too afraid of potentially falling off mid-flight. The instructor had to fashion a harness for me before I would even attempt it.”

“Did you eventually overcome your fear?” Ingrid asked inquisitively. She set aside her brush, attention snared.

“Not entirely. I think the Pegasus could sense it, too. One moment I was strapped securely to its back, and the next I was sent sprawling face-first into the dirt.” Edelgard waved a hand for emphasis. “I found out later that King Lambert and Dimitri had been watching near the stable. It was a humiliating experience. Consequently, I never tried to fly again.”

“A pity.” Ingrid attempted to muffle an amused chuckle, but did not quite succeed. Her green eyes stared into the distance, unseeing. “You know...Dimitri never told us that story. He hardly spoke of you at all, in fact.”

“I would imagine not.” Edelgard brushed back her hair. She turned a considering look to the young woman before her. “Speaking of Dimitri, I have a question for you that concerns him.”

“Ah.” Ingrid’s face noticeably fell. She took a slow, deep breath. “I...thought that might be it.”

“Oh?”

“With respect, Your Majesty; I am not a fool. You rarely approach us without purpose. Since you did not have a mission for me, I assumed you wanted to know something only I could tell you. There are very few topics that match such criteria.”

“Then I will not waste your time with any more preamble.” Edelgard pursed her lips, gaze flinty. “It has come to my attention that my uncle, the current Lord Regent, was visited recently by a certain King. He has been quite mum on the subject, and refuses to tell me what they spoke of. I was hoping you might have some idea as to why Dimitri sought my uncle’s counsel.”

“Lord Arundel? I haven’t the faintest––” Ingrid stopped abruptly. A faint look of surprise stole over her features. “...Actually, there may be something he could help Dimitri with.”

“And that would be?”

“Well, it concerns why His Highness came to Garreg Mach in the first place.” Ingrid suddenly appeared weary. Her eyes lost their typical luster. “The Tragedy of Duscur.”

Something cold, and heavy settled in Edelgard’s chest. She struggled to keep her features placid. Her hands shook, so she stilled them by crossing her arms. What would she give never to hear of that wretched incident again?

“I see.” Her words sounded faint, even to her own ear. Distant, drowning. She bit her lip. “I suppose it’s only natural, after witnessing such a thing. But why seek out my uncle? To my knowledge, he wasn’t in Faerghus at the time.”

“Dimitri had a theory. A small one mind, but he was convinced of it.” Ingrid sighed, and folded her hands over her heart. “I don’t think he told anyone else save for me and maybe Dedue.”

“What was this _theory_ of his?” Inadvertently, the Emperor tensed. Her heart thrummed with anxiety. Was it possible; had the boy actually stumbled onto the truth? But if so...why had he withdrawn from Arundel? Had the situation been reversed, she would have wrung the Lord Regent’s spindly neck. Either Dimitri had more self-control, or Thales must have told him something of worth. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. That sense of unease only grew as Ingrid hesitated.

“Please, Your Majesty, do not misunderstand me. The incident scarred Dimitri, irreparably so. In his grief, he looked for something..._someone_ to blame.” Ingrid averted her eyes to her mount. The Pegasus huffed restlessly, as if sensing the somber mood. She scratched behind its ear, soothing the animal. “The explanation about Duscur never sat well with him. He believed it was just a smokescreen, put in place so that the true culprit would go undiscovered. At the monastery, Dimitri thought he may have finally found who orchestrated everything. He told me just before I transferred into the Black Eagles.”

“And who did he think was behind it?” Edelgard asked stiffly.

“Well...” Ingrid winced. The young woman’s throat worked visibly. “It was you, Your Majesty.”

It was a blow Edelgard foolishly did not expect. She took a sharp breath, but was able to keep most of her composure. Inside, she wanted to both laugh incredulously and rage over the injustice of it. _Of course. __Who else would it be? The villain heir apparent. _What a silly little girl she had been, to expect otherwise. Dimitri had always failed to see the woods for the trees; forever single-minded to a fault. A bitter, black disappointment sat upon her tongue.

“I suppose my antics as the Flame Emperor did not disabuse anyone of that notion.” Edelgard muttered sourly. “However, if you hold such allusions as well I must relieve you of them. I had nothing to do with Duscur.”

“I never thought you did either, Your Majesty.” Ingrid spoke with haste. She peered at Edelgard, contrite. “I would never have chosen to follow you if I thought so. Even in the Holy Tomb, I didn’t believe you capable. I know the Professor would feel the same.”

“A small comfort, but I thank you.” Edelgard said, softening somewhat at the thought of Byleth. Her words lowered to a thoughtful whisper. “At least that mystery is solved. No doubt Lord Arundel was most gracious in informing Dimitri of my supposed treachery. The man will be after my head to the exclusion of all else.”

“I beg pardon, Your Majesty?”

“Nothing, Ingrid. Your help was most appreciated.” Edelgard turned her head, and stretched out her fingers. She patted the Pegasus gently one last time. “I wish you both a pleasant day. I think I’ll retire to my study for now. Inform Hubert should you see him, won’t you?”

“It shall be done.”

Edelgard turned on her heel and walked away. If her eyes were glossy and wet, Ingrid made no mention of it. The girl who cried over what her brother thought of her was long gone. There was no place for such weakness here.

_You’re a wonderful liar, little niece. _Thales hissed from her mind. His voice was mocking; insidious as the plans he weaved. She could see him now, leering at her from the shadows; his stolen face crumpled into a cruel smirk. _No teacher to save you, no family to believe __in__ you. Just me, and the lonely dark._

The sound of skittering paws and jangling metal followed her back to her quarters.

* * *

The Alliance had kept quiet since Claude’s ambush, and House Riegan outright denied involvement. House Gloucester’s official stance was that the letter had been a hoax perpetrated by hired brigands, as was the supposed attack on the Emperor. It was a farce. One that neither side could prove definitively either way. In the end, the Alliance kept their appearance of neutrality, and the Empire was forced to seethe in quiet malcontent. On the other side of Fόdlan, two disparate powers raged in seeming perpetuity.The days since Gloucester had seen a slew of skirmishes between Faerghus and the Empire, mostly upon Gronder and Magdred. These battles typically ended without a clear victor, neither willing to lose ground to the other. But the casualties remained, and haunted the survivors of both.

Months passed before Dimitri made his move. Edelgard had been planning to strike the region of Charon, a key supplier of iron and steel to Fhirdiad. She hoped it would hobble the Kingdom’s arms and potentially prevent them from enduring a sustained assault on the capitol. Sadly, this plan would not come to fruition for some time. Days before she was able to gather her forces for the march, a lone scout suddenly burst into the Archbishop’s chamber. He fell to his knees before the Emperor, face sweaty and pale.

“Your Majesty!” The man choked, chest heaving. “To the north, riders and a flock of Pegasi! They wear the colors of House Blaiddyd!”

“It would seem the boy-King has made his move,” Hubert droned at the Emperor’s side. Edelgard shot him a censuring glance. She stood from the Archbishop’s throne, flicking her hair back.

“How many?”

The scout bent his head low. His hands were shaking, like a willow tree amid howling wind.

“I-I am not certain, Your Majesty. Four-hundred infantry, at least. Maybe two hundred cavalry, and fifty fliers. P-Possibly more? They’re coming down from the p-pass. I rode to the Monastery as fast as I could when I spotted them.”

“How far out?” Hubert demanded.

“A d-day’s ride, at least.”

“Calm yourself, man.” Sylvain, who had been hovering by the doors, slung an arm around the scout’s shoulder. “We’ll rout those Kingdom dastards. Right, Your Majesty?”

“Perhaps the man would be calmer, if one of those said ‘dastards’ wasn’t touching him.” Hubert sneered at the Kingdom born noble.

“Enough. We don’t have time to bicker.” She graced them both with a pointed glare. They bowed their heads in unison, chagrined.Her attention shifted back to the shaken scout. “Your name, good sir?”

“D-Den of Varley.”

“You have served admirably, Den. Now go to the cathedral and have them ring the bell. A battle is on the horizon.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” With a quick bow, the man retreated out of the chamber. Hubert eyed him as he exited, eyes narrowed in thought. The rest of her gathered men waited for her command.

“So the Boar has finally come.” Felix broke the silence, sniffing. “To try and force his way into Garreg Mach...how typical of him.”

“We cannot say for certain what his plans are,” Hubert said shortly, withdrawing from his preoccupation. “It would be prudent to meet him on the field, rather than wait for an assault on the Monastery.”

“I agree.” Edelgard sighed, and rubbed her brow. She hadn’t expected Dimitri to march to Garreg Mach, at least not _this_ soon. It made sense, in hindsight. Rhea was likely chomping at the bit to recover the ‘holy’ ground of Garreg Mach; and Dimitri was all too willing to play the pious Knight for the Church. Still, for him to act so suddenly…she wondered what the man was thinking. He had to know the bulk of her forces were here. Was he truly that confident? _Perhaps his thirst for vengeance has driven him mad. _Edelgard smothered the loathsome thought. She would deal with him soon. There was no need for baseless conjecture.

“Hubert, gather the rest of the Black Eagles and send them to their battalions. Have Caspar and Ferdinand lead the vanguard, and Petra lead the rearguard. Send Ingrid and her corps to scout the pass. Keep Bernadetta and her archers to guard the Monastery gates. Felix and Sylvain...”

The two men moved to face her, their features alert.

“Follow me to the field. We’ll give His Highness a proper welcome party.”

* * *

It was not hard to spot him. Dimitri Blaiddyd cut a striking figure, just as his noble Father did before him. As the Kingdom’s forces filtered through the pass, it was he who led the march. Draped in a fur cloak lined in blue, the man could be mistaken for the King of Lions come back to life. He rode atop a pale horse, contrasting the dusky metal of his armor. Dimitri halted his approach suddenly. Edelgard could not see the expression on his face, but she did not imagine surprise would be there. Her brother likely expected her advance, if only to counter his own. Subterfuge had never been his way. She scanned the soldiers before her. Behind Dimitri was a sizable force. Perchance enough to sack Garreg Mach. At least, for a time. Reinforcements from Varley and Merceus were already en-route, just in case this scrap went south. However, Edelgard did not intend to lose. Not to him, and not now.

King Dimitri held up his arm. His cavalry paused, lance and swords falling readily to their side. Horses pranced in place, anxiously awaiting a charge. Above the pass, a squadron of Pegasus Knights circled like vultures. Edelgard turned an eye to them. She had ordered Ingrid to stay above the clouds for now, but the woman was poised to swoop down upon Dimitri’s riders. At her order they would engage, arrows and magic ready to fall.Claude was not the only schemer among them. Dimitri shifted atop his steed. His head turned as he addressed a heavily armored man at his side; his vassal from Duscur, Dedue. Then Dimitri spurred his horse forward at a gallop. His soldiers did not follow. Not even the giant Dedue trailed after him.

“The hell is he thinking?” Sylvain muttered at her side. Edelgard was prone to agree. Perhaps he did not anticipate her taking advantage of the situation. A lesser person would loose a volley of arrows to rain upon the unsuspecting man. Luckily for him, she was feeling generous. A chat was long overdue.

“Caspar, stay here. Sylvain and Felix, with me.” With that curt order, she urged her mount forward. The mare grunted once before taking off at a swift pace. She heard the echoing sound of hooves behind her as the two men obeyed. Before the Ohgma pass emptied into the lands of Garreg Mach, it met a lush field accompanied by an open sky. It was here, the Monastery spires to her back and the arching spine of the mountains to his, where they convened. Then, at last, Edelgard saw Dimitri face to face. The year since their parting had changed him, far more than it had her. His features were sharper than she recalled, the roundness of youth giving way to gaunt edge. Golden locks framed his dour expression, the hair unkempt and longer than their Academy days. There was a weary look to his pallid face. Edelgard did not miss the dark shadows that ringed cobalt eyes.

“_Edelgard_.” Dimitri spat her name like a curse. His gaze was raw steel tossed into a forge; all fire and no direction. Something strained passed over his face as he noticed her companions. “...As well as Felix and Sylvain. Did you bring them here to mock? Or merely to boast about how much you’ve taken from me?”

“Dimitri.” The Emperor raised her head, refusing to rise to the barb. “I do believe we can dispense with the pleasantries. We both know why you’re here.”

Dimitri laughed, but it was far from pleasant. It was a harsh, choking sound; like an animal gasping for air.

“Do we? Have you finally come to confess your sins, El?” He demanded, teeth clenched. Edelgard did not give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. How long had it been, since she heard that name? Too many years. It was a bitter feeling to hear it now, from him of all people.

“My sins are immeasurable, but not any you would understand.” She kept her expression impassive; unreadable. “You are a short-sighted fool, Dimitri. That much has not changed. Acting on Rhea’s behalf like a dog come to heel...well, you always were easily led.”

“This is the leader you follow?!” The King growled out, stare shifting angrily to men beside her. “A woman who attacks your homeland, denounces the Archbishop, and insults your King?!”

“You are not my King,” Felix stated calmly, a faint sneer on his mouth. “To my understanding, we’ve been cast out of Faerghus. Whatever loyalty I owed is now rendered moot.”

“Felix...” Dimitri drew back as if struck. His jaw worked noticeably. “What did I do to deserve this betrayal? We were friends!”

“We are nothing.” The swordsman clenched his weapon tight. “Do not forget that, King of the Boars. Lest I strike you down in the midst of your nostalgia.”

“So you would side with the person who caused the Tragedy of Duscur? Glenn’s killer?!”

Edelgard was shocked for a moment, thrown by the sudden accusation. Thankfully, Felix merely scoffed contemptuously in response.

“You honestly believe a thirteen-year old girl could orchestrate a massacre? You are more of a fool than I recall. Go back to Faerghus, Dimitri. As I told you once before, I don’t speak with beasts.”

Dimitri seethed, hands clenched tight upon leather reins. Then the man stared accusingly at Sylvain.

“Will you refuse to see reason as well?!” A near manic look entered his eyes. Dimitri’s voice was hoarse with rage. “I almost expected this from Felix, but you..._why_ Sylvain? What could _she_ possibly have to offer?!”

Unlike the dark-haired Fraldarius, Sylvain hesitated. His expression fell, brows furrowed. After a long moment he lifted his head. A glib smile was on his roguish features, all teeth.

“What can I say?” He rolled his armored shoulders. “She’s prettier to look at.”

Dimitri was not amused. A flush stole up his neck and cheeks, painting his skin in violent hues of crimson. The shadows marking his face grew ever deeper. Edelgard, who had been content to let the men rage at each other, cleared her throat.

“Rally your men, Dimitri.” She stared at the King; even and unafraid. “Next we meet, it shall be on the field of battle. Try not to disappoint me.”

“I’ll have your head, Edelgard.” Dimitri collected himself. He bore into her with single-minded focus. “If nothing else, I _promise_ you that.”

“You want it? Be a good dog and fetch.” Edelgard left him behind with those parting words, Felix and Sylvain at her heels. She did not deign to give the man a parting glance.Deep within, her heart roiled; torn in twain by conflicting wants. For a moment, Edelgard considered laying her plans at his feet. She wanted to correct him, tell him indignantly that he was mistaken; to reveal Thales as a fraud and the true culprit he had been searching for.

But the look in his eyes was more animal than man. As he was; Dimitri would not listen. The King had been consumed by his grief. She could see it etched into every line of his body; in the hollow of his cheek and within the hatred that gave him breath._He will not understand. He isn’t capable of it. _Edelgard raced back to her waiting men, knuckles bloodless. _Mother forgive me. Lambert forgive me. This can only end in blood._

* * *

Through the eyes of an impartial observer, one could be mistaken for thinking the forces to be of equal might. The King of Faerghus lead the first charge, a wave of horses and men trampling across the plain in a storm of motion. At his back, there was a flurry of wings as Pegasus Knights followed after their monarch. They moved like a coming storm; fast and terrible. Below, banner-men of House Blaiddyd proudly trailed, garbed in splendid sapphire.

Opposite the field was the awaiting Imperial horde. Their armor was black as night, a stark antithesis to the sparkling silver raiment of the Kingdom soldiers. They waited for their enemy upon an overlooking hill, forming a great wall which barred access to Garreg Mach. The Emperor, clad in heavy crimson armor, raised her hand. At her side was the Empire’s best, the famed Black Eagles who stole Garreg Mach from under the Archbishop’s feet. To her back, a large flag waved defiantly in the wind; the Adrestian Eagle facing the Lion of Faerghus once more. The Holy Kingdom soldiers breached the treeline. They rode closer and closer, heading to where the two ends of the valley met. In the sky, the Pegasus Knights lifted their lances.

The Emperor lowered her hand. Magic fell from the clouds in a thunderous wave. Arrows followed like hail bombarding the Kingdom Pegasi. Their riders were flummoxed, unable to stand the onslaught. Steel pierced steel. Magic scorched flesh and wing. Man and beast fell from the heavens, and crashed to the unyielding ground below. Then a woman with golden hair soared through the clouds, leading a regiment of soldiers clad in Imperial armor. The Empire’s gambit had been a success. The Emperor raised her axe and shouted to the air. A line of archers, shielded by the cavalry, loosed a volley. The approaching Kingdom men were suddenly beset with a rain of arrows, many falling from their steeds and others halting their approach. The King was forced from his mount, his General hefting a great shield above their heads.

The Emperor shouted once more before leading the charge down into the valley below. The warriors at her back echoed her words, a cacophonous call that was heard from the furthest reaches of the Ohgma Mountains.

_“For the Eagle! Slay the Lion!”_

The Battle for Garreg Mach had begun.

* * *

As a child of the Adrestian Empire, Edelgard was taught how wars were won. It was a battle of the mind just as much as it was physical. Her books had made that much very clear. Her Father had been uninterested in teaching her such things. But that had been when she was merely the fourth daughter in a long line of Imperial children; no inheritance to her name, no considerable value to offer. Only her uncle Volkhard, a hardy man with an easy smile, would teach her anything of worth. He had bestowed upon her a love of strategy and an affinity for the axe she would come to wield. Then her beloved uncle disappeared, and in his place was a viper with an oily grin. That man too would teach her the ways of war. However, his lessons would be remembered far less fondly. Yet the reality of battle could not be taught in theory alone.

Paltry words could never impart the same experience of sliding a blade through armor and flesh. The feeling of liquid warmth slicking hands; running between fingers. The smell of rust and sweat in the air; stifling each hurried breath. The sound of bone rending under hammer and axe. Nothing could prepare someone for such horrors. The Emperor only regretted the necessity of it. She cut down a passing archer, a fresh-faced youth with freckles and hair sun-bleached. To her right, Caspar gutted a man with a beard white as snow. She raised her shield, and sent it crashing heavily upon a woman who had tripped at her feet. Her eyes had been blue as the sea, wide and fearful like a cornered animal. The color was eerily familiar. Edelgard felt her chest seize with regret.

So much death. For what; Rhea’s pride? Dimitri’s misplaced vengeance? The pointless waste of it all. There was only one way to make this right, for the weight of their lives to have had purpose. Until this world was liberated from the Church and the corrupt nobility, Edelgard would carry them with her to the end. It was the only path left to her. She stopped in the midst of the chaos and surveyed the field. The Kingdom soldiers were fighting valiantly, but their strength was waning. Their fliers had been routed, and the remaining cavalry had retreated back to the trees. Petra and her men were flanking the infantry, arrows fast and merciless. Slowly, the Kingdom was being pushed back into the pass. Victory was on the horizon, but only their King could force the retreat.

Edelgard searched for him, heart racing. In the end, it was _he_ who found _her_. A javelin whistled by her ear, and embedded deeply into the earth. She whirled around, eyes stopping on Dimitri’s blood soaked form. His face was drawn into a bestial snarl, teeth stained red.

“Edelgard!” The King spat, and curled a hand around his lance. His voice was a ragged hiss, rough with exhaustion and rage in equal measure. He took a step forward, cracking a stray branch under his heel.

“So you’ve found me.” She stared at him warily. Her shield was poised at her side. “Retreat Dimitri. Your forces are shattered. There will be no victory for you today.”

“You think I will run?” He laughed; quick and bitter. “I’ll not quit the field until your blood wets my hands. I swore to have your head, and I shall!”

“Don’t be a fool. Will you leave Faerghus to fall?”

“Another will take my place. The blood of House Blaiddyd lives on.” An odd emotion passed across his ragged features. His anger cooled, becoming something far more melancholy. “El, before I kill you, tell me. My father...your mother..._our family_. Why did you do it?”

“Dimitri...” Edelgard swallowed. Her eyes searched his own. She forced away her sympathy, and burned it along with the memory of a boy with golden hair and a gentle smile. Her voice was ice, even as she choked on the ashes. “You really are a fool. Know this, I will not grieve for you. The girl who was capable of that died a long time ago.”

“So it seems.” Dimitri snarled, expression blackening with hatred. “Fine,_ El_. Keep your sordid secrets! I know the truth, and I’ll see you pay for those sins!”

He roared and swung at her wildly. Edelgard raised her shield in time, his blow connecting hard with the metal. The vibration shook her arm, nearly breaking her grip. She gritted her teeth and retreated a step. Then she hefted her axe and swiped at his unguarded arm. The King parried her blow, but was unable to move out of her range. She stepped within his guard, and caught his abdomen with the face of her shield. He staggered back a few paces, winded.

“You always relied too much on strength alone.” Edelgard brandished her axe with a flourish, ready for his next move. “Felix is right. You really are like a boar.”

“Silence!” Dimitri moved swiftly, much faster than she anticipated. He loomed like an obelisk before swiping his lance in a whirl. The motion caught the edge of her shield, breaking open her guard and splintering the handle. Bits of metal of wood sliced into her palm. The Emperor bit back a curse, before tossing the now useless implement away. She moved backward as he pressed his advantage, narrowly dodging another powerful swing. He encroached like a storm; unrelenting and wild. There wasn’t anything human in him then, only his wrath and malevolent purpose. They traded blows, steel meeting steel. Rage meeting resolve. An axe strike gouged into blackened plate. A lance thrust tore through a crimson cloak. The Emperor ducked as the King swung wide, aiming for her head. The weapon caught the edge of a nearby pine, trunk shattering under the heavy blow. She took a step in retreat, panting.

Too late, Edelgard realized that she would not be able to overpower the man. While her speed was greater, his strength eclipsed her own. Wrath was fueling him, reason traded for raw power. She felt a tremor of trepidation, despite herself, as he cornered her among the trees. All the while, Dimitri stalked forward. A wolf scenting blood. Madness loomed at the corner of his eyes. Quickly, she sidestepped his next strike, her axe sinking deep into his shoulder. He screamed, but did not relent. An armored hand struck her across the cheek, and she was sent sprawling to the ground. Dazed, she pressed against a nearby tree and attempted to use it for leverage.

Her vision spun as she watched him tear the axe from his body. He threw it away into the brush, her only means of defense now gone. A booted foot connected with her chest. Edelgard gasped, back now pressed to unyielding bark. Above, her would-be killer raised his arms high. The pointed edge of his lance shimmered in the sun.

“Do you have any last words, Edelgard?” Dimitri hissed out. She gazed up at him. A whispering scoff escaped her lips. Her hand curled upon something unseen.

“Yes, but you will not be the one to hear them.” She struck like the viper she was taught to be, sinking a dagger into the vulnerable flesh of his calf. He screamed, the sudden pain causing him to stumble. Edelgard thrust a hand up and struck his throat. The King gasped and fell to his knees, choking. She picked up his fallen weapon before pointing it at him. For one wicked and impetuous moment, she considered leaving a memento of this encounter. Perhaps a scar to mark him indelibly. The thought of Byleth’s disapproval, and her own disgust, curtailed that base impulse. His eyes, watery with sweat and agony, glared heatedly.

“That...was...low.” The man heaved in between strained pants. She simply shrugged.

“It’s war. Grand ideals such as honor will only get you killed.” Edelgard pressed the lance to his sternum. “Admit your defeat, Dimitri. Retreat back to Fhirdiad and tell Rhea you failed. Garreg Mach belongs to _me_.”

“The Church will come...for you, Edelgard. Do not think...they will be idle forever!” He huffed brokenly.

“Is that so? Then why have they sent _you_ in their stead.” She tapped his armor pointedly, the metal now scored by an uneven gash. Her eyes flashed. “No, they need time to gather an army. And when they do, I’ll be waiting. Go back to your master, Dimitri, and give her that message.”

“I will tell her nothing!” Dimitri grimaced, biting the words out. He clenched his teeth and stared up at her. Blood pooled under him in a sea of red. Misery was written plainly upon his face. “Finish it, Edelgard. End me.”

“...No. I think not.” Edelgard drew back, eyes averted to the distance. Nary a hint of blue and silver could be seen, save for the dead. Faerghus had been routed. She turned back to him.

“This will be the last time I spare you, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Remember that for the next time we meet.”

“I _will_ kill you, El.” Even as his strength faded, the man’s fervor remained. She admired his resolve, and despaired at the application of it. In another life, he truly would have been a great ruler. Now, he was just a man poisoned by forces beyond his ken.

“I know, Dimitri. I know.”

Edelgard turned on her heel. She left him there, knowing he would not have the strength to follow. She wondered if he would recognize the blade that had caused his defeat. No, she thought hollowly. He wouldn’t. Perhaps it was for the best. The dagger had long since served its purpose. Thales had been right about one thing; sentimentality was for fools.

* * *

The aftermath of the battle was short and sweet. The Kingdom forces were soundly defeated, and the rest had scattered back up into the Ohgma pass. In one Imperial scout’s report, he noted the fleeing figure of a Duscur man. This heavily armored fellow was supposedly riding hard and fast in the direction of Arianrhod, the injured King of Faerghus at his back. The scout went on to ask the Emperor for orders on whether to give chase. The Emperor declined, thoroughly content with the victory of Garreg Mach. If the two Kingdom natives in attendance quietly sighed in relief, it was not given attention.

The weeks following the battle were filled with quiet celebration. After the dead were buried, and the casualties mourned in song, a tangible feeling of pride swept through the monastery. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was not a small foe, and the victory bolstered the Imperial army. They paid tribute to their Emperor, who with her swift thinking disabled the enemy’s mounted force. They praised her strength, of which had trounced King Dimitri and sent the man scurrying back across the border. Ferdinand exaggerated the tale gladly, with Caspar’s exuberant help. Edelgard knew Hubert was likely behind their efforts; the man loved to boast in her stead.

As it was, the praise only drained her. The truth sat heavy in her breast, a great and ponderous thing. Dimitri had nearly won by sheer force of desire alone, so great was his fury. It had been a terrible mistake to let him live. She knew that. Once he recovered, the King would be even more desperate for her life. Yet Edelgard could not bring herself to regret it. Dimitri was alive. It was enough to soothe that irrational part of her that still cared for him. Despite her best efforts, disposing of her sororal affection was proving quite difficult. Maybe it would never die, so long as he lived. Something to think on.

It took a month before life at Garreg Mach returned to relative normality. Her Eagles had enjoyed the brief respite, but the war was not over yet. They returned to their duties with much gusto, even the more sedate members such as Lysithea and Bernadetta. The tension in the wake of the previous years funeral service seemed to dissipate as well. Edelgard eased within their presence, deciding that such petty conflicts should not come between them. She stopped ignoring Linhardt, to the young man’s relief. Though in that instance, Edelgard was sure he was just glad to be rid of Hubert’s lingering contempt. In the case of Dorothea...their relationship was still strained. Not out of spite on Edelgard’s part, but rather uncertainty. Thankfully, the songstress would be plenty brave in her stead.

“Edie.”

Edelgard stilled, tea cup hovering in the air. She set it down on the saucer lightly. The brunette woman strode into view, garbed in the maroon dress she had taken to wearing of late. Her verdant gaze was prying, a certain steel to them she hadn’t seen since their academy days. Her arms were crossed, painted nails displayed in full view.

“Dorothea,” The Emperor greeted pleasantly. She schooled her features into careful nonchalance. “Can I help you with something?”

“You can actually.” Dorothea took the chair across from her. Then she helped herself to a cup, steam rising from the liquid to intertwine with dark curls. They had all matured greatly in the past year, but none more so than her. The way the other woman smiled, Edelgard could tell she was well aware of this fact. The men had cottoned on to this first. Many of the monastery soldiers vied for her affection, but strangely Dorothea had been reticent in accepting a suitor. It was a different attitude than the one she had adopted as a student. Nowadays the woman seemed to prefer the company of her friends, Petra in particular.

“Oh?”

Dorothea took a spoonful of sugar. Then she delicately stirred it in her tea. Her ruby lined lips were pursed together.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Edelgard eyed the woman before she took a steadying sip.

“That’s true. I have been.”

“Because of what happened eight months ago?”

The question flummoxed her. Edelgard frowned over her drink, mentally backtracking the days since that disastrous event. Had it truly been that long? She cleared her throat primly, unwilling to show her surprise.

“For the most part...yes.” Her eyes flicked to Dorothea’s. “Can you truly blame me? I was completely blindsided by that little display. Tell me, Dorothea, was it merely a plan to startle me from my doldrums? Or did you do it just to wound me further?”

“Edie.” The dark-haired woman stared at her for a time. She sighed; a tired and weak utterance just barely heard over the wind. “With as much respect I can muster, not everything is about you.”

“_Excuse_ me?” Edelgard lifted the edge of her lip, gaze hard. Ire settled like fire on her tongue. Dorothea did not waver. She lifted her chin, eyes sparkling with defiance.

“That service was for everyone we had lost. Gloucester, Garreg Mach, even those people Rhea had us dispose of as students. We owe it to them; to remember their lives in full.” Suddenly, Dorothea paused. Conflict creased the corner of her eyes. “The Professor...she _needed_ to be remembered.”

“Our teacher is not dead!” The Emperor’s voice raised, trembling on the last word. “She’s _alive_, Dorothea.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dorothea’s words were matter of fact. Edelgard could help but flinch at her distant tone. “Either way, should we just let her memory go untouched? Or is it just something for you to toy with when you feel sorry for yourself?”

“How _dare_ you.” The Emperor shook in her seat, fists clenched atop the table. She visibly seethed.

“No. How dare you!” Dorothea stood, voice growing shrill. Her stare was ice. “You weren’t the only person who cared for her, Edelgard! You weren’t the only one who lost her. Yet you act as if it is a personal offense whenever we have the _audacity_ to speak of her. It hurts you, I know, but it hurts us just as deeply. Don’t you think we deserve to have something of her? Even if it is as paltry a thing as memory?”

“Don’t speak as if we are equal in this. We are _not_.” Edelgard struggled to regain her composure. Her breaths were fast, and seared her throat with each inhale.

“Then enlighten me. What _is_ the difference in how we feel?”

“Because I loved her.”

There was silence. The weight of the words cut through the tension like a sword. Dorothea looked at her, brow furrowing. Edelgard kept her head bowed. She folded a hand over her chest, and closed her eyes. It was a truth she had shied from for nearly two years. So dreaded a secret, she buried it with everything she had ever held dear. A burden eased from her shoulders, even if only slightly. She spoke again, heart aching.

“I loved her, Dorothea. With everything I had.”

“I don’t understand.” The songstress slumped back into her chair. She blinked slowly, processing. “You...you never said anything. I knew you admired her, but––”

“Does it really surprise you?” Edelgard mustered a mocking laugh, directed at her own pitiful nature. She swallowed hard. “She saved me, not once, and not just from a bandit’s axe. From Rhea, from_ myself. _Byleth, beautiful and kind, who reached out for me when I was at my lowest. When I believed no one would help or understand.” Her voice faded to a whisper. “I was a shell of a girl with a matchstick, ready to toss this world into flame so long as my cause was just. She taught me there was still good left to protect; that there was still some good left in _me_. What else could I do, except fall in love?”

“Edie...”

“I’m not fool. I know that she is likely lost to us.” She opened her eyes and faced the other woman. Bitterness colored her next words. “I got her killed, Dorothea. For my own selfishness.”

“You can’t believe that.”

“And why not? You were right, you know. In the aftermath of the Professor’s death I reacted like a child, refusing to see the truth right before me. I clung selfishly to the thought of her survival, because if she was alive I would not have to face my own culpability. That it was my ideals, and not just Rhea, who cut down the person I loved...I couldn't stand the thought.”

Edelgard grabbed her cup. She watched the liquid as it moved, the color dark as pitch.

“I once thought of myself as an Eagle, proud and bold just as the Emperors before me. But the truth, Dorothea, is that I’m a snake. Everything around me, eventually becomes poisoned.”

The songstress was silent for a long period.

“...You really are quite ridiculous, Edie.”

The Emperor frowned, attention changing to the woman in front of her. Dorothea sighed, arms folded around her abdomen. She smiled wryly.

“Oh woe, and all that besets me so...dear me, you really are made for the opera.”

“I was being quite serious.” Edelgard straightened, scowling. “If you intend to mock me further then––”

“Shush now. My turn to speak.” Dorothea raised her hand, expression sobering. Edelgard blinked at her daring, but made no further comment. “If there is anything I know, it’s that the Professor did as she pleased. She chose to follow you, Edie. Perhaps the end came too soon, but I don’t believe she regretted making that choice. Of all of us...she cared about you the most.”

“That’s hardly true,” Edelgard could not help scoffing.

“Is that right? The woman plied you with tea and sweets whenever she could. Just because she knew you liked them. And don’t think I missed her giving you flowers every now and then.”

“They were to liven up my room. She said it was far too dreary.”

Dorothea quirked a brow at this.

“Visited your room often, did she?”

“Not for anything sordid.” Edelgard tossed back her hair in irritation. “Cease that line of thought, Dorothea. Just because she expressed a small degree of fondness does not mean she reciprocated my affections.”

“Perhaps, but it does make my point.” The songstress reached out, and touched the back of a gloved hand. “Edie, she cared for you. Deeply. The Professor’s death was a tragedy, yes, but she would not want you to dwell on it; and certainly not to think you were responsible. Remember her fondly, as the wonderful woman she was.”

“That will be _difficult_.” Edelgard took a measured breath. The other woman laughed softly then, and it was somehow both sad and relieved.

“Oh, Edie, haven’t you noticed? We’ve been talking about her this entire time.”

“That is...” The Emperor considered her words, drawing back in sudden realization. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course. I always am.” Dorothea took a sip of her tea, lips lifting in amusement. “Now tell me everything else you liked about her. Oh, was it love at first sight? Did your heart flutter when you saw those arresting blue eyes. I know _I_ swooned.”

“Nothing so pedestrian.” Edelgard managed a weak smile. The pain was there still, one conversation could not mend heartbreak, but it was perhaps more tolerable. It was _nice_, she discovered, to reminisce about the woman she held so dear. Perhaps Dorothea had the right of it. In time, this gaping maw within her would heal. “I didn’t know what to think at first. She was so...”

“Intense?”

“In a word.” Edelgard thought of the way Byleth would look at her, firm and gentle all at once. To be the subject of her focus was a source of anxiety for some, but she never felt that way. The Professor’s stare was unwavering, yet there was no hint of judgment or malice. Meeting that gaze, Edelgard had only ever sensed careful intrigue. As if the woman didn’t know what to make of _her_ either. Then, after the events in the tomb, there had been a palpable sense of understanding between them. _I chose you_, Byleth seemed to say. _I know,_ Edelgard imagined saying back, _and I loved you for it._

“Dorothea?”

“Yes, Edie?”

Edelgard leaned back into her seat, teacup in hand. Her shoulders relaxed as she took a sip.

“Thank you.”

* * *

When the anniversary of Garreg Mach’s capture came, another service was held. To everyone’s amazement the notoriously secular Emperor headed the proceedings. Accompanied by the songstress Dorothea, they thanked those who had lost their lives in service to the Empire. The Black Eagle Strike Force watched in collective amazement as both women led the congregation in song. Their surprise only grew as the Emperor spoke of their departed teacher. Fondly, and without the characteristic sorrow that tainted her voice in days previous. There was grief and longing still, but it was tempered by something more. What that could be, no one could glean. All the same, they were glad for it. At the end of the service, Emperor Edelgard exited with her inner circle. Many observers noted that the woman seemed more resolute than in days past. The devout left the Cathedral with bolstered spirits, affirmed in their faith; not of the Goddess, but of the leader they had chosen. It was an auspicious beginning for the year to come.

****Next Chapter:** The Year of Family and Reprieve**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: (Dorothea used Tough-Love! It was Super Effective!!)  
First off, let me just say that I was planning to post this on Monday, but since I finished WAY ahead of schedule I just posted it anyway (shrugs).  
Eh I don't think you guys mind, right? Anyway a lot of things happen in this chapter, some I'm confident in some I'm a little leery of, but I hope you guys find it enjoyable all the same. The Dimitri/Edelgard relationship is interesting to me, and I found it rather weird how little we get in CF. If you didn't play BL, Dimitri's anger at El comes across as a little out of nowhere(the dagger isn't even mentioned??). Even knowing why, it still jarring when he wasn't in the holy tomb nor at Garreg Mach with Rhea. I wanted to give a reason for his pursuit, while giving Edelgard and him some time to butt heads. Plus an excuse for some angst on both sides because I just roll like that.  
The conversation with Dorothea was tough to write, because I love both of them in different ways. I'm not certain it came out as great on paper as it did in my head, but YMMV. Tell me if something seems off and I'll try to correct it. For anyone concerned this will be the end of Edie's pining, don't worry. I'm not through with torturing her just yet (poor girl). For Petrathea shippers out there, I have a scene planned out that will make you guys happy. So get excited for that please!  
Thank you for the wonderful reviews! I'll see you guys next week (or sooner who knows) - AdraCat


	4. The Year of Family and Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the spaces between battle and war, soldiers rest and reflect.  
Time is given, both for family and friends.
> 
> Also Known as: Edelgard has a lot of feelings; most aren't very pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> barding^ - Horse armor that consists of several pieces. Sometimes includes a caparison, which is a decorative skirt/cloth that goes underneath the armor.

**Chapter 3 – The Year of Family and Reprieve**

A few months after King Dimitri’s thwarted siege of Garreg Mach, a letter arrived from the capitol. It bore the twin-headed Eagle of Adrestia, stamped cleanly upon scarlet wax. The significance of this was not lost upon the Emperor. There were very few people allowed to use the seal of House Hresvelg.

“Shall I accompany you, Your Majesty?”

Edelgard did not look up from her desk. A gloved hand cradled the letter within a loose grip. She folded it once before dropping atop a stack of missives.

“No, Hubert, I think not.”

“...With respect, Your Majesty, I believe my services––”

“Your services will be needed in Garreg Mach while I am away.” The Emperor looked at him steadily. “As my second, the men look to you for guidance. It would invite trouble should the both of us leave for Enbarr.”

Hubert’s face visibly soured, but he made no further argument. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed visibly.

“Understood, Your Majesty.” His lime gaze sharpened. The dark sweep of his fringe shrouded his face. “It is...regrettable that I will not be there to attend to your needs. Shall I send for anyone in particular as your escort?”

“I have a small company in mind. While I do not expect the Church to mount an attack, it would be best if I keep my visit perfunctory.” It had been quite some time since her last stay in the capitol, for good reason. The nobility swarmed her like flies whenever they received any hint of her presence. This visit, however, was not something she could avoid. “Send for Ingrid and her Knights. They can get me in and out of the city faster than a carriage.”

“Would that action be wise, Your Majesty? Considering what happened a year ago––”

“Do you think me craven, Hubert?” Edelgard stood, favoring the man with a disapproving frown. He bowed deeply at the waist.

“Never, Milady.”

“Then do as I bid and send for Ingrid. Keep the others ignorant. I would hate for news of my visit to spread before I arrive in Enbarr.”

“As you will.” Hubert hesitated for a moment. “I will look forward to your return. Tell His Grace, House Vestra was honored to serve until the end.”

Edelgard cut her eyes back to the broken seal. The Eagle was bisected, one crimson head crumbled away to nothing. She swept the wax away with a wave of her hand.

“I will Hubert. Thank you.”

* * *

The room was stale, air heavy with decay and other unmentionable things. It smelled sour, like milk sat in the sun to curdle. In the center of the room was a large bed. Once, the sheets were porcelain edged with gold embroidery. A bedding fit for royalty. Now, they were stained to a hue akin to bone. A yellowed-white reserved for corpses rather than men of beating hearts. The reminder was painful, but Edelgard dared not look away.

Her father lay on the bed limply. His skin was dreadfully pale, and cast sallow in the dim light. The bulk of his frame, once strong and sturdy, was now a withered husk. Lines of red and blue ringed his features, blood vessels seen through the translucent veneer of his flesh. She reached for his hand. The fingers were knobby and thin; not a hint of warmth to be felt. His wrist was thinner than her own. The great Ionius IX, wasted to nothing. She brought his hand up to her lips, and kissed the back of it. His chest rose slowly and his eyelids fluttered.

“Edelgard…?” He rasped. His gaze was unfocused and trembling. She took a nearby rag and wiped his brow.

“Hello, Father,” Edelgard greeted, voice soft. He took a wheezing breath and she clenched her jaw upon hearing it.

“I didn’t expect...to see you.” His features contorted; a grimace of agony that aged him beyond his years. “What...month is––”

“Garland, Father.”

“...Ah.” His face brightened momentarily. “Your birthday will be coming up...correct? Or was that your sister…?” Confusion clouded his face, and Edelgard bit back a flinch. She kept her expression placid.

“You’re right. My birthday will be this month.” Her hand deposited the soiled rag on a stand near the bed. She deliberately avoided looking at the bucket underneath. Murky red lingered at her periphery. “However, I don’t imagine there will be much time to celebrate. The duties of the Emperor are never-ending, as you know well.”

“Perhaps not as much...as you think.” Ionius licked his lips, skin cracked and blistered. “Edelgard...why are you here?”

“Can a daughter not visit her Father?”

There was a long silence. Then the man stared up at the canopy above him.

“I see. Then...I suppose I’m not long...for the Goddess.” Limp white hair spread along his pillow as he turned to her. “The healers...they told you this, didn’t they?”

“They suspect tonight or tomorrow.” She knew her voice sounded impartial, almost cold. A defensive mechanism at its finest. In truth, it was all she could do to refrain from sniveling into his chest. Edelgard mustered a wan smile. “You haven’t been lucid for quite some time. A few days ago, they wrote that your mind had recovered; but your body was declining faster. They informed me this typically meant death would be near.”

“Bah...death.” Ionius scoffed, but it devolved into a hacking cough. He shielded his face from her. Blood speckled his fingers. “I greet it...gladly. I’m sure Volkhard is tired...of my body’s indecision.”

“The Lord Regent has relished his position.” She set aside a glass she had brought. The liquid within was flecked and clouded. “I only regret I was not able to come sooner.”

“You have wars to fight...dragons to slay.” He took another stuttering inhale. “Vicious time. When I...was Emperor...there was never enough. It slipped away...like water.”

“Yes. It does tend to do that.”

“Mm,” He mumbled, eyes becoming heavy. His voice lost much of its strength. “Patricia...she was my one regret. Did I...ever tell you?”

“You did, Father.”

“I loved...your mother. Don’t think...otherwise. But the throne...it needed a strong heir...a proper heir.”

“I recall."

“We married...yet there wasn’t any...children. Not for a long while.”

“Hmm. Is that right?”

“The ministry insisted….I take another. I don’t...” Ionius bent his head, chin meeting concave chest. “I don’t think she ever...forgave me.”

“No,” Edelgard sat at his side, and brushed back his matted locks. “She never did.”

“Duke Aegir...Marquis Vestra...even Volkhard. What they did...” Her father’s words were thick; his eyes watery. “I failed her. I failed you.”

“The world failed us both, Father. As did the Goddess.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his brow. He tasted of salt and misery; something as familiar to her as blood. Thales was nothing, if not thorough.

“Edelgard...” His voice was a mere whisper now, soft and pathetic like a child’s. She loved him then, so sudden and fiercely it stole her breath. Her poor feeble father. The emotion was almost as strong as the hatred she felt for him._Chains that bite as deep as a __snake__’s fangs. Rats that nibble so carelessly on a child’s fingertips. Still living, still screaming. _Edelgard blinked. She reached for the glass she had prepared.

“Here, Father, drink. It will be over soon.”

The cup was pressed to his mouth. He managed a sip, liquid flowing past his lips to soak his beard.

“I’m proud of you...El. I think your mother...would have been too.”

“No, Father.” Edelgard kissed him one last time on the head. Idly, she wondered how long it would take. “I don’t believe she would have been. Goodbye, and sleep well.”

* * *

On the tenth day of the Garland Moon, the former Emperor Ionius IX of the Adrestian Empire took his last breath. The healers had been baffled, at first. The man’s condition had suggested a painful death; heart failing and body wasted to bone. Yet when they entered his chambers, his face was calm. He laid serenely, hands folded over his heart as if in prayer. His bedding swaddled him tight, like a mother’s embrace. The more pious of them declared a restful intervention on the Goddess’ behalf. The skeptical of them declared his daughter’s presence was enough to soothe his ravaged heart. They did not pry too deeply, even if the curious circumstances caused a few minds to wander. Whatever the truth, it was undeniable Ionius’ last moments were spent in peace.

It was normally a grand occasion when a former Emperor was laid to rest. The last royal funeral procession had been for Ionius’ father, Wilhelm XII. Edelgard did not have many memories of her grandfather. He had been a stern and hearty individual, from what the history books said; strong as an ox and a temper to match. The man from her memories was broad, certainly, with a craggy face similar to a mountain peak. She had no basis for his personality, however. The man had ignored her and her mother quite stubbornly. Suffice to say, it was hard to mourn for a man she never knew. Her own father had gone to great lengths to give him a proper funeral. All across Enbarr, people lined up in the streets to watch as Wilhelm’s body was brought to the family mausoleum. Trumpets sounded a mournful tune, women threw armfuls of garland, and the Adrestian flag was waved over droves of decorated officers. He had been a venerated ruler, and hailed as a military genius in his time.

Ionius IX, she knew, was not as beloved. Edelgard watched from the balcony as her father’s body was carried into the mausoleum. A small regiment of guards watched the proceedings; posture stiff-backed and grim. A few of the Ministry nobles were in attendance, most prominently Count Bergliez and Count Hevring. Of the seven insurrectionists, they had been the least culpable. She wrapped her palms around the balustrade. Below her milled a few of her father’s household. His personal staff of servants and cooks who had tended to him in his last days. They would be richly awarded for their service, but for now they bid their emperor farewell with subservient bows. A soldier, dressed in Hresvelg colors, waved the Adrestian flag proudly. In summation, it was a small service. Hardly the elaborate procession Wilhelm XII received.

It would be the height of hubris to deny her father’s legacy, or lack of one as it were. He had not been a popular ruler. Ionius IX would be remembered as compulsive and flighty, a man who was less than his father in every respect. His rule would go down in history as characterized by insurrection, and scarred by his own indecisiveness. The common folk despised him. The nobility played at pity while decrying his faults openly. There would not be any kind words written in his honor. _Ionius the Ambitious,_ they called him at his coronation._ Ionius the Impotent,_ was what they called him now. She heard many people referring to him as such in hushed whispers. Even among the remaining royal staff, though she could not blame their perspective. To them, he was a relatively ineffectual figure head. A dying noble, but a noble all the same. They did not know him as a man alone. Edelgard could not say she knew him either.

What had he been, save for a man drowning under the weight of a crown?

_A neat excuse. _Edelgard turned her back as they shut the mausoleum doors. The funeral had concluded, and the current Emperor needed to return to the living. Wallowing among the dead only invited ghosts, and she was haunted by far too many already. As she was making her way back, an unwelcome phantom materialized from the dark. The Lord Regent, eyes loathsomely similar to her own, stared at her. He smiled, an oily grin that bore no teeth yet was vicious all the same.

“Edelgard, how lovely to see you.”

“Lord Arundel,” She hailed him shortly, tone even. Unease pulled at her, nagging. Thales never made frivolous visits upon her person. There was always an angle with him; though he had been disconcertingly absent in the past two years. His lips pulled at the corner, as if he could sense her line of thought.

“Careful, now. It almost sounds like you don’t want to see me.”

“I wonder.” She turned to face him fully. Her hand curled lightly upon the pommel of her sword. A ceremonial piece, but it would serve well enough in an emergency. His involvement in Dimitri’s crusade against her was not forgotten. “Perhaps I simply do not want to see the man who sent a rabid dog my way.”

“Oh? Was the King that surly?

“You know why,” Edelgard retorted, barely retraining herself from gutting the man. Her fingers flexed upon molded metal.

“It was for the best.” Thales lifted his chin, raven whiskers twitching with his misplaced amusement. “He was distracted quite readily. The boy is easily manipulated, just as his father before him. A shame. I’m sure you can use that to your advantage in the coming days.”

“How so?”

“A rabid animal is one that is easily caught. His anger blinds him, as I’m sure you noticed.”

Edelgard averted her gaze despite herself. Suddenly she was back on the field, Dimitri’s wounded eyes pleading even as a blade was poised over her. In that moment, he hadn’t been a monarch judging a foreign ruler. He was just a boy, asking for an answer she could not give him. She thought of the madness that lurked within those blue eyes. The memory evaporated into smoke. Edelgard straightened.

“Do you have a request of me, Lord Regent? If not, I must begin preparations for my trip back to Garreg Mach.”

“Not a request, no.” Thales stepped closer, arms crossed casually. He narrowed his gaze. “I was just surprised to learn you were in the city. To my knowledge, you were far too busy dealing with those church miscreants of late. I didn’t think you would have time to pay your poor Father any mind.”

“I made the time. Does that bother you, Lord Regent?”

Pale lavender irises thinned further, becoming mere pinpricks wrapped in shadow. His mouth opened into a sneer.

“Why should that bother me, little niece?” His voice deepened, and she read the warning he imparted with each word. He was displeased and wanted her to know it. Sympathy, compassion, sentiment...all useless in his eyes. For her to display even a fraction of care for Ionius, it surely galled him. It wasn’t what he taught her, after all. Edelgard looked up at him, giving no quarter as he stood over her. His play at intimidation would not be given attention.

“I cannot begin to imagine.”

“Hmm.” The man hummed curtly, lips pursed. “Disregarding that for a moment, I had another matter I wished to discuss with you.”

“Which would be?” Edelgard asked pointedly. She leaned back on her heel, letting her impatience be seen.

“It’s come to attention that Lady Cornelia of Faerghus had attempted to reach out to you on multiple occasions. Yet you spurned her letters...why?”

“Lady Cornelia, is it? I was unaware she had gained a formal title.” She eyed him, observing the twitching muscle in his jaw. A sign of his evident vexation.

“Do not test me, Emperor. Lest I grow weary of your impudence.”

“Then that makes the both of us. As for Cornelia, the answer is simple. I don’t care to entertain a woman who treats with Kingdom nobles. This war has enough subterfuge to spare.”

“You would do well not to make enemies of potential allies,” The Lord Regent muttered darkly. “With Cornelia’s help, the royal family would have been neatly excised. They trust her to their own detriment, as does many of the Faerghus nobility. She had a plan in place, niece. One which you spoiled with your pride.”

“A shortsighted assassination on the Grand Duke is hardly a plan worth mentioning. Attempting to implicate Dimitri would have been a mistake the Empire could not afford.” Edelgard waved a hand glibly.

“Then you _did_ read them.”

“Of course. Did it not occur to you that even if this plan was executed, the Archbishop would hardly stand for her ‘rescuer’ to be imprisoned?”

“You can’t say for certain that would have happened,” Thales said, frowning down at her.

“Maybe not, but in Rhea’s current frame of mind I would not be surprised. The woman needs the crest-bearing heir of Blaiddyd to further her own ends. Cornelia’s plan would have thrown Faerghus into momentary chaos, but only until the Archbishop decided to call order. In the end, nothing would have changed and Dimitri would still be King.”

“You have thought about this.” He stared at her thoughtfully, his earlier hostility faded to nothing. His eyes glimmered with approval. “Forgive me, Emperor. I had underestimated your dedication to our cause.”

“Don’t think of me as a mewling whelp being sent to pasture.” She turned her back to him and flicked back her hair. “I know what I’m doing, Lord Arundel. Make no mistake about that. Tend to your underlings as you please, but leave me to mine. This war will be won by my means, and mine alone.”

“As you will, Your Majesty.” From her periphery she watched him lean forward, a pantomime of a bow. Tendrils of black gathered at his feet. He continued to stare at her even as he vanished into a formless abyss. It was a serpent’s gaze; hungry and empty. She told herself it was only a passing breeze that sent shivers down her spine. Edelgard bit her cheek before walking away. She dared not look back.

* * *

The journey back to the monastery was quiet, fraught with nervous tension. The Pegasus Knights were watchful, but they gave their Emperor a wide berth. It was no secret that Ionius’ funeral had soured the woman’s temperament. They kept their interactions short, and dared not overstep their bounds. The Knights respected her far too much to breach her carefully arranged mask. Only their Commander, of whom carried the Emperor personally, spoke without fear of censure. It was a tedious affair, in truth, but Edelgard was grateful for their wish to respect her privacy. The last thing she wanted was for them to think her easily overcome by grief. It was at the edge of Varley, just past Merceus, that the holding pattern finally gave way.

Day had given way to night, and a coming storm halted their approach upon the Ohgma mountains. Rain covered them as they swooped in to land. Ingrid settled them under a copse of trees, just a few yards off from a stream. One by one the soldiers stripped their mounts and collected supplies for the night. Tents and bedrolls were unraveled, blankets were draped, and fires were ignited. Soon, the weary men and women settled into their routines. The smell of food and the sound of camaraderie filled the air. Smoke rose between the pine, mingling with the passing storm.

Ingrid, ever considerate, had settled their own camp a distance away from the main complement. They were carefully positioned underneath an outcropping of rocks, a natural barrier between them and the forces of nature. It did not take her long to pitch the tent, her hands showing a skill that belied her noble upbringing. Edelgard watched the process with vague interest, but could not fully concentrate. She busied herself with polishing the flat edge of her axe. Her reflection ran grey and indistinct in the metal.

“The storm looks like it will stay,” Ingrid sighed, breaking the silence. Her gaze was focused on the darkening sky. The normally pristine length of her hair looked like brass; water dripped off the ends.

“I suppose you’re right.” Edelgard followed her line of sight. Lightning flashed, occasionally accompanied by a low rumble. “Pity. I was hoping to get back to Garreg Mach by today.”

“Do wish to chance it?”

“No need. The matter is far from pressing.” She set her weapon aside. It gleamed silver as the campfire cast light upon its edge. “Hubert can wait another day. I doubt the others are giving him too much trouble.”

“I can’t speak for the Adrestians, but Felix and Sylvain are prone to making trouble.” Ingrid smiled fondly. She turned away and walked back to their fire. Edelgard watched as she tossed a branch within the flames. It flickered brighter, sparks shooting into the air, before settling into a molten orange.

“I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised,” The Emperor began after a moment. “I never took you for a skilled outdoors-man.”

“Ah well...” A flush stole up the other woman’s fair features, though it could have just been the fire’s glow. Ingrid crossed her arms. “My family has never been what you might call ‘typical’, for nobility. We lived humbler than most. Camping was a past time that was relatively inexpensive, and my father––”

Ingrid cut herself short. Her eyes slid uneasily to Edelgard. The Emperor merely nodded her head once, undaunted.

“Go on.”

The woman hesitated. Then she continued, though a trifle more delicately.

“My Father loved nature. Which most considered strange considering his station. He does play the oblivious noble at times, but he is actually rather pragmatic. He took me into the woods whenever he had time.”

“So he taught you everything you know.” Edelgard surmised. She noted the wistful expression on Ingrid’s face.

“Yes, but I suppose that’s only natural.” The young woman blinked rapidly before clearing her throat. “I...I cannot say every lesson he taught was worthy. His view on the world is quite dogmatic. But even if I knew he was wrong, I never dared to argue. He’s my father, and for all his flaws, I do love him.”

“But you resented him all the same.” Edelgard did not miss the flinch her words elicited. She gazed at Ingrid levelly, hands folded in her lap. “To my knowledge, he was pressuring you to marry and procure an heir for House Galatea. One that bore a crest.”

“...I am no different than any other heir of a fading House.” Ingrid breathed in. Her lips trembled slightly. “Though he will never admit it, Sylvain is much the same in that regard. You recall the incident with Miklan?”

“Of course.”

“The two were never close, but Sylvain loved him. Yet as they grew older the differences between a child with a crest, and a child without one, grew insurmountable. When Miklan was disowned, Sylvain felt responsible for it.”

Ingrid tossed another piece of wood into the fire. Flame and smoke licked the wood. The ensuing shadows arched along the woman’s cheek.

“The fate of being born with something we did not ask for; the both of us know that pain well. It is why I believe in you, Your Majesty, and the world you promise to create.”

“I thought as much. Still, it cannot sit easy with you; knowing your father placed the security of the bloodline over his own daughter.”

“You are...quite blunt, Your Majesty.” Ingrid said with a wince. Edelgard blinked before shifting her attention to crackling flames.

“Did I offend you, Ingrid? Forgive my candor. That was not my intention.”

“No, you’re not wrong,” The other woman chuckled lightly, but it was an empty sound; devoid of humor. She wiped something from her eyes, whether it was smoke or tears Edelgard could not say. “It’s true I resented him. Even when the man I was engaged to was someone I respected and loved, I still felt betrayed.”

“Felix’s brother?”

“Glenn, yes.” The blonde woman’s mouth turned up into a distant smile. “He was surly at times, but gentle with me. A true knight who loved his country with everything he had. Yet when my father told me of the match, I wanted to scream at him. How dare he, I thought. How could he decide my future despite my wishes?”

Ingrid paused abruptly.

“I must sound childish to you. Here I am complaining about my own father when...”

“Actually, I find this somewhat therapeutic.” Edelgard held out a hand, fingers hovering near heat and dancing embers. She waved and shadows danced. “It’s strange isn’t it?”

“What is, Your Majesty?”

“How possible it is, to love and hate within the same breath.” Edelgard drew her hand back. The warmth did not follow. “We should get some sleep. I’ll keep watch first, if you don’t mind.”

“I––” Ingrid started, as if to protest. Then she swallowed before dipping into a bow. “As you will, Your Majesty. Please wake me should you feel tired.”

“Don’t concern yourself, Ingrid. I know when I’m at my limit.” Edelgard flicked her gaze meaningfully at the tent. She affected a reassuring smile. “Now off with you.”

Ingrid obeyed, if reluctantly, and disappeared within the tent folds. It was just Edelgard now, alone with a fire and an amassing storm overhead. It was dark as pitch. Wind whistled mournfully past her ears. The Emperor sighed heavily, hands clasped to her knees. It hadn’t been a lie, what she told the other woman. It settled something inside of her, to hear about a man flawed as her own father was. She spent so much of her youth idolizing him. Then, after the Insurrection, that adoration soured into pity and spite. A part of her understood he was not to blame, not entirely. Yet emotions were fickle, and children even more so. A father was meant to be a pillar of strength, not the onus a girl must bear in addition to a broken family.

_Lambert, _ _golden_ _ and _ _strong, who held both her and Dimitri in a fond embrace. His hand was warm on her shoulder, comforting in a way she was unfamiliar with. He ruffled Dimitri’s hair, and smiled at her like he did his son. They were family now, he had insisted. What did that really mean, she recalled thinking. All the while, Thales lingered behind them; _ _always_ _ watching._

Edelgard rubbed her brow, and felt the tension gathered there. She had envied Dimitri then. It was a black jealousy which did not fade. That family could have been hers too, fully and completely, had Thales not stolen her from it. He Who Slithered did not tolerate losing control of his most important pawn. The weapon he forged could not be dulled by weakness.

It was hypocritical of her in hindsight, to be disgusted by her father’s helplessness. Perhaps that was the true reason for her loathing. A person always hates being reminded of their own imperfection. Edelgard covered her face. Her breaths came faster. Suddenly, she found herself mumbling a prayer. Not to the neglectful Goddess, but to Byleth. The only person she felt comfortable pleading with.

_If you see my father, Professor, don’t think ill of him. He was only a man...and I am only a girl who has made just as many mistakes. Watch him, please, wherever you may be._

The fire leapt, casting sparks at her feet.

* * *

When they arrived back at Garreg Mach, they were greeted by the other members of the Strike Force. Respects were paid in honor to the late Ionius IX, Ferdinand and Caspar the most accommodating. The Emperor knew that it was their misplaced sense of responsibility that fueled it. A son will always, in some way, feel responsible for the father. Such was the way of children and parents. Hubert was attentive as always, but he stayed his sharp tongue as the Eagles convened. A small consideration, but one Edelgard was thankful for nonetheless. Dorothea asked whether they should have a formal event in the man’s memory, but she declined. It was done, Edelgard insisted, and their sight should be set on the future.

Days after the Emperor returned, a small group of the Strike Force were having tea in the monastery gardens. Edelgard poured a few cups, the heat of the kettle just barely felt through her gloves. Dorothea, a vision in velvet and magenta, sat primly across from her. Petra was to her left, an expression of confusion on her dark features. The Brigid royal took the offered cup within her hands, eyeing it with odd fascination.

“Such prettiness,” She murmured with awe. Her calloused hands turned the cup slowly. “This...um, _material_. It’s being called Adrestian glass?”

“Yes it is. Made from the sands of the Rusalka shore. While coastal, the region is often beset by terrible storms. Craftsmen bury metal rods in the sand to draw the lightning. Something in the Rusalka sand causes the glass to become stained with color, ranging from pale red to sea green.” Edelgard held her own cup up to the light. It sparkled like an ocean sunset. “I don’t know the specifics, but it is certainly an intriguing phenomena.”

“Does Brigid not have anything similar?” Dorothea cocked her head to the side. She leaned forward, eyes focused intently upon Petra. The Brigid woman looked up thoughtfully.

“Hmm. Brigid has many beaches, but not much storms. The islands do have black rock which can be made to be jewelry and weapons.” Petra reached into her satchel and pulled out a dagger. It’s surface was a glossy dark hue, like a moonless night. She flipped the weapon between her fingers dexterously.

“It is being used in ceremonies mostly, but back in...um...” Her brow furrowed, before comprehension dawned. “..._ancient_ time, the Brigid people were mining to build with.”

“Fascinating.” Dorothea watched the dance of Petra’s fingers, gaze heavy-lidded. Edelgard eyed them both with a raised brow. She took a sip of her tea.

“I’ve never seen a metal like that. Does Brigid have any intention of trading it?”

“I am not thinking so.” Petra flipped the blade and extended it, the handle now facing the Emperor. Edelgard took it and touched the curious metal. The knife, while beautiful, did not look particularly sturdy. It felt oddly delicate in her hands. “It is...rare now. Grandfather told me the mines are being dry.”

“A shame. Black _is_ the color of the Empire.” Edelgard smiled and handed the blade back to its owner. As Petra’s arm retreated, verdant eyes followed and lingered upon smooth muscle. Dorothea moved her fingers close, and trailed the tips down the dagger’s edge. Edelgard did not miss the back of the woman’s hand grazing Petra’s.

“Very beautiful. I think I need to visit Brigid sometime to buy...what do you call it?”

“Er...” The princess frowned in consternation. She rubbed her neck idly. “I do not know the Fόdlan words. The translation being close is ‘flame spirit rock’.”

“Not quite romantic, is it?” Dorothea leaned back with a pout.

“What is the word in your language?” Edelgard asked smoothly. She sent the songstress a pointed glance. Dorothea rolled her eyes, but could not hide her amusement. Petra didn’t seem to notice.

“Eldurrokk.” She tucked the knife away, and shrugged. “I find Adrestian glass of much more interest.”

“Oh? Is there anything else in the Empire you find interesting?”

“Um...” Petra glanced at Dorothea, dusky features portraying befuddlement. “There is much things to like in the Empire. Many things I am never seeing in Brigid. I enjoy these experiences greatly.”

Dorothea opened her mouth, likely to make another thinly veiled flirtation, but the Emperor interjected swiftly.

“I think it’s important to travel outside the places we were born.” Edelgard sat her cup down with a clink. “It is by observing other cultures that we understand our own more fully. Both the good and the bad. Intellectual and societal stagnation occurs when we refuse to do otherwise.”

“I am in agreement.” Petra smiled in her own affable way. The woman was a gentle spirit at heart, for all her skill as a warrior. She tucked one of her braids behind her ear. “Everyone in Fόdlan would be learning much too, if they tried. I think my people could be teaching Adrestia greatly, just as I am being taught.”

“Oh Petra...you really are a treasure.” Dorothea sighed airily. “If the women of Brigid are half as charming as you are, I think a trip overseas is in my future.”

“That would be greatness, Dorothea!” Petra perked up. Her eyes glittered with approval and excitement. “I could be showing you much. But I do not know about my people’s charm. I think many could be learning from you.”

“Dear me…” The songstress laughed, color high in her cheeks. Dorothea turned away to sip at her tea. A pleased, if somewhat bashful, grin was on her face. Edelgard leaned back in her seat. Her lips quirked up; thoroughly entertained. It wasn’t everyday the flirtatious woman was beaten at her own game. Though she was certain Petra had done it entirely on accident.

Suddenly the foreign royal looked up at the sky. She frowned, consternation replacing her previous ease. Then Petra polished off her tea in a quick gulp before standing. The young woman had taken to wearing the traditional garb of Brigid recently, rather than Fόdlan clothing. Colorful tassels and beads drew the eye, marking her as something alien to Imperial troops. It suited her, however. Far more than the academy uniform had. She cut a striking figure standing there, with her leonine musculature and braided mane. It was easy to see why Dorothea might be smitten.

“Forgive me, but I must be leaving now. I promised Hubert I would be lending my hunting skill.”

“Very well, I suppose we cannot monopolize you forever.” Edelgard offered Petra a bow of her head. As the heir to a kingdom, no matter how small, the other woman deserved respect. Brigid was a hostile ally at best, perhaps, but she strove to improve their relations for the years to come. For now, Petra was her soldier. _My arrow in the dark. _Petra bowed in return, ever mindful of her place within the Empire.

“I was enjoying this rest. Goodbye, Edelgard; and you Dorothea.”

“Goodbye, Petra,” Dorothea said, waving after the woman. As the princess vanished from the garden, she exhaled wistfully. “That girl...I wonder if she has any idea what she does to me.”

“Doubtful, though you do try your hardest. A pity your target has little understanding of seduction, or perhaps she’s just immune to your charms?” Edelgard watched from the corner of her eye as the songstress visibly balked.

“Immune? There is no such thing.” Dorothea flipped her hair in faux arrogance. “Noble and commoner alike worshiped at my feet when I was on the stage. They still do! In fact, just the other day a handsome knight asked me to join him for a stroll.”

“And did you accept?”

“Well...no,” She admitted. “He was nice, but I have my heart set on a certain beautiful royal.”

“I’m flattered, Dorothea.” Edelgard poured herself another cup. She stirred in a healthy portion of sugar, smiling glibly all the while. “I had no idea you held such feelings. Should our wedding be in the spring, or perhaps on the Ethereal Moon? I hear snowfall is fortuitous.”

“Very funny, Edie. Be careful or I’ll take you up on that offer.” Dorothea cut her eyes to where Petra was last seen. Her lips curved into a small frown. “Do you really think she doesn’t notice? Or is she too polite to turn me away? I would hate for her to see me as a nuisance.”

“I think you need to be straightforward rather than play your usual games.”

“You act as if I’m like that cad Sylvain. I assure you when it comes to matters of romance, I do not play around.”

“Petra sees the world in the simplest of terms,” The Emperor stated, tone sobering. She stirred her tea in preoccupation. “That includes the people who live in it as well as herself. Now don’t misunderstand. I would hardly call her naive, but she does have a propensity for seeing only what’s on the surface. People like us, who are fluid in speaking in layers, tend to confuse her. Tell me truthfully, do you want her?”

“I believe I’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“To me, yes, but not to her. A person like Petra appreciates honesty above all else. So you should state your intentions without reserve.”

“A direct approach, is it?” Dorothea’s shoulders slumped. Her expression slipped into something labored, like a bow pulled far too tight. “This might surprise you, Edie, but I don’t have a healthy relationship with honesty. I’ve been burned before, oft by my own hand, and I had grown used to disappointment. With Petra...to lose her would be the end, I think.”

Edelgard paused mid-sip. She gazed at her friend evenly, eyes searching. What she found in the other woman’s face startled her.

“You really like her, don’t you?” It was a belated realization on Edelgard’s part, only because she had underestimated the feelings involved. She expected the attraction, perhaps a healthy mix of admiration too, but Dorothea’s words suggested something far more. The songstress stared into her tea as if it contained the answers she sought. She was not quite grimacing, but it was close.

“After the attack...when Rhea...” A stuttering breath came from pink lips. Then Dorothea continued on. “Well, you know I was injured. Everyone was busy in the aftermath, you more than anyone. But Petra always made time to visit me in the infirmary.”

A smile spread up her face, soft and slow.

“She was so worried. Attentive, too. Sometimes she would bring by a poultice she made, or food from the dining hall. Professor Manuela had to practically shoo her away more than once. Even when I was fully healed, Petra still came by to check on me. I recall one night, I found a fur blanket in front of my door. It was soft, lovingly stitched together. Petra never said it was from her, but she was the only one I complained to about my drafty quarters. I had never felt such unreserved kindness before, at least not without incentive.”

“I see,” Edelgard murmured. Her own memories stirred, a collection of small gestures and selfless actions. Byleth. Always and forever.

_The present had been unexpected, a finely made board forged from Adrestian glass. The pieces told the tale of the Tailtean; on one side the proud Imperial Eagle and on the other the King of Lions._

_ “Do you like it?” _ _Those eyes stared boldly, _ _unapologetic in their intensity._ _ Blue _ _as the hydrangeas her mother used to keep. _ _Beautiful, like everything _ _else _ _the Professor_ _ did_ _._

Edelgard forced away the past, and struggled to remain in the present.

“I can understand the appeal. People like her are rare indeed.”

“They are. You know, when I first saw her I thought she was intimidating. Her expression had been so severe, like she would snap if I said something wrong. Then she talked to me and I thought her way of speaking was just the cutest thing. I was more than tad curious after that.” Dorothea smiled down at her clasped hands. “Oh Edie. I sound positively silly, don’t I?”

“You sound like a girl in love.” Edelgard stared into the distance. Idly, she noted Bernadetta passing by the gate. A plump tabby was cradled in her thin arms. A safer thing to observe, than her own twisting thoughts. She heard Dorothea sigh again, dreamily.

“I suppose I am. It’s a wonderful thing. Maybe more than I deserve.” The songstress attempted a light chuckle. It sounded more deprecating than mirthful. “Alas I think I’ll tease her a little longer. Half the fun is the chase, after all.”

“If you insist.” Edelgard turned back, and plucked a candied peach from a silver tray. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she remembered. A curious ache tightened her throat, before settling in her chest. She tried to wash it down with more tea. “You’ll have more opportunities once she gets back from hunting.”

“I’ll wait with bated breath.” Dorothea stopped abruptly. A faint crinkle appeared on her brow. “It’s strange. Petra said Hubie needed her, but he never struck me as a hunter of any sort.”

“Yes.” Edelgard peered at the glass tea set. She wondered if the Brigid princess would like her own as thanks. Outstanding service required lush reward. “Quite strange.”

* * *

When the leaves began to turn their autumnal colors, and the air became heavy with cold, a visitor came to Garreg Mach. A carriage, bearing the colors of Leicester, traveled down from the eastern pass. Heavily armed men flanked the carriage on all sides. Their number was unusual, suggesting a person of grand importance or station. The Gatekeepers eyed them warily, refusing to lower the bridge. They awaited the Emperor’s command patiently. Edelgard frowned down at them from the battlements.

“What House do you suppose?” Ferdinand asked at her shoulder. He leaned over the side, wind tossing the long length of his hair.

“Hard to say.” She observed the banner draped along the carriage. It was plain, bearing only the Alliance flag and nothing more. A crest could not be seen, though that meant very little. The person inside could be Claude von Riegan himself and they would be none the wiser. The horses did not bear ornamental tack, nor were the saddles the ostentatious affairs of decorated knights. The ones drawing the carriage were adorned with full barding, the caparisons underneath plain yellow and black.

“They’re certainly expecting a rude welcome, aren’t they?” Ferdinand scoffed, evidently noting the armor.

“The Alliance has been rather quiet of late, but I’m sure no one has forgotten Gloucester. I know I have not.” The reminder of that disastrous encounter was enough to ignite her temper. She forced her fingers to uncurl, having formed into fists from the memory. “It would be wise to err on the side of caution.”

The carriage driver finally climbed down. He was a stout man, thick-set with broad shoulders. His bald pate gleamed in the sun as he bowed before the Gatekeepers. It was hard to hear what was being said down below, but he seemed pleasant enough. Edelgard watched as he backed away and gave another subservient bow. Then the driver knocked on the carriage before climbing back up the seat.

“At least the men at the gate are doing their job.” Ferdinand mused with a chuckle. “I suppose one attempted siege on the monastery was enough for them.”

“I do not think they intend to sack us, not with such a paltry force. Still, I do not know why an Alliance House would seek out the Empire. They have had plenty of time to consider a pact.”

“Perhaps Claude has another trick up his sleeve?”

“Something to be prepared for, certainly.” Edelgard wrinkled her nose at the mention of the man. She would take Dimitri any day over that backbiting jester. At least the King was forthright in his intentions. With Claude, there were far too many angles to consider. A sudden patter of feet on stone drew her attention. Lysithea stole up the battlements, hair mussed and breath uneven.

“Your Majesty.” She panted, before doubling over to clasp her knees. She took a moment to recover before staring up into the Emperor’s eyes. “Please open the gates!”

“For what reason?” Ferdinand asked directly, placing his hands upon his hips. “I know you have some measure of fondness for your homeland, but Garreg Mach cannot allow––”

“Steady on, Lysithea.” Edelgard addressed her, standing in between the two. She cut her eyes to the acting Prime Minister, glaring. He drew back with a frown, but did not protest further. “Are you familiar with these men?”

“Not all of them,” The younger woman admitted. She swept back her ashen hair with an agitated hand. “But the driver is a servant of my Father’s. I’m sure if it!”

“Count Ordelia?” Edelgard narrowed her eyes, considering. She stole a glance at the waiting group of men. “So he has come calling at our door. Have you any inkling of his intentions?”

“No, but I don’t think he will make trouble. He’s always held a healthy _respect_ for the Empire, or at least...” Lysithea fell into silence, discomfort obvious upon her pale features. Edelgard did not need her to finish the thought. She already knew the word the girl wanted to use.

“Very well. If the Count wishes for an audience, I will not send him away,” She relented, turning her back to the gate. At her side, Ferdinand made a brief noise of exasperation.

“Yes, yes. Invite all suspicious individuals into the monastery. It’s not as if Claude would manipulate these nobles into doing his bidding.”

“My Father wouldn’t conspire with House Riegan.” Lysithea bristled, affronted.

“I meant no offense. I’m just concerned on Her Majesty’s behalf.” Ferdinand straightened his clothing, and puffed his chest. “Do not worry. I, Ferdinand von Aegir, will suss out the truth of this!”

“You couldn’t suss your way out of a fish barrel.”

“I beg pardon?”

“Silence, you two,” Edelgard sighed out. She rubbed her temple, attempting to soothe away her mounting tension. “Let us greet your father, Lysithea. We shall hear what he has to say.”

* * *

Count Ordelia did not much look like his daughter. While Lysithea was slight of frame and comely, the man who stood before them was quite the opposite. He was dark-haired, the color streaked with salt along the sides, and stood several heads above most men. When he took his daughter into his embrace it looked as if a giant was accosting a small child. It wasn’t too far from the truth, Edelgard supposed. She noted that while he might have been quite muscular in his youth, his bulging tunic suggested he had run to flab. His eyes were dark as he turned to stare at the Emperor. She did not miss the flicker of fear that shadowed them.

“Count Ordelia.” Edelgard inclined her head politely. “I welcome you to Garreg Mach.”

“Emperor Edelgard.” The man’s voice was gravelly, like a bear’s groan. He swallowed thickly; the bushy ends of his mustache trembled as he did so. “I was uncertain you would let me in. Tales of what happened in Gloucester echo all throughout the Alliance. I hope you know that House Ordelia did not condone such actions.”

“I did not suspect you did. House Riegan holds that dubious honor.” Her jaw tensed, muscle leaping. She attempted a smile, but from the Count’s blanching face her hostility must have been noticed. “Forgive me. Had I known you were coming, I would have prepared a feast.”

“That is unnecessary. I hope to keep our stay brief.” The man bent his head back to Lysithea. “How have you been, my girl?”

“I’m doing fine, Father.” The young woman blinked as a large hand pushed back her silver bangs.

“And they treat you well?” A dark gaze slid quickly to the Emperor. Edelgard struggled not to let her irritation show. His concern was only natural, as was his skepticism. Thales and his agents had not been kind to House Ordelia. That such atrocities were carried out under the Empire’s name was her burden to bear, as well as her responsibility. _Do you feel guilty, little niece?_ She ignored the poisonous words her mind had conjured.

“Her Majesty is most gracious. I do not regret staying to fight in her name.” Lysithea raised her chin, a stubborn set to her mouth. “The Empire is not as you remember it, Father. Edelgard is just and righteous; nothing like Ionius.” The last part nearly drew a flinch, but the Emperor was able to calm herself. The girl’s words were not meant in offense.

“If you insist.” The big man pursed his lips, but said nothing more on the subject. He turned a keen eye to the Emperor. “We should talk more later, Your Majesty. If you don’t mind, the trip has made me weary.”

“Understandable,” Edelgard stated, nodding once. She spotted Hubert lingering in the shadows. The man stared intently at the Count before meeting her gaze. A wordless exchange occurred. Then, Hubert bowed and retreated. “I’ll have one of my men prepare you a room. Until then, please, partake of the dining hall. Dinner should be ready shortly.”

Count Ordelia bobbed his head, but it was a distracted gesture. He appeared to be preoccupied with checking his daughter over, a light scowl on his face. Irked, Edelgard turned on her heel before exiting the reception hall. No matter, she would let his blatant impertinence stand; for now. While his dislike was apparent, she knew he would not step beyond his bounds. He cared for his daughter too much to chance her safety. Ferdinand, who had been leaning near the hall doors, startled at her approach. He jogged to the Emperor’s side, an oddly jovial look upon his face.

“That was quite enlightening.” The young man said with a grin. She smothered the compulsion to roll her eyes.

“I would hardly call it that. The Ordelia’s have lost some prominence since the Empire’s intervention, but they’re still part of the Roundtable. His play at being impartial is more trying than anything.”

“Really? I thought he was being rather sincere.” Ferdinand looked behind him, before lowering his voice. “But that wasn’t what I meant.”

“I don’t have time for games, Ferdinand. Either speak plainly, or don’t speak at all.” Edelgard could not bite back an aggravated huff. His expression fell, but he was not deterred.

“Fine. Then I shall get to the point.” Ferdinand smoothed the rumpled folds of his cravat before turning a sharp eye to his liege. A keen intelligence lay there, usually hidden by his inflated arrogance. “I find it odd that Lysithea looks nothing like her father. Neither hair, nor stature. It’s a curious happenstance, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps she takes after her mother. I hardly see why that would be important enough to comment on.”

“Maybe, but other things have been on my mind. Namely concerning you.”

“Me?” Edelgard stilled, attention fully caught. She gazed levelly at the man before her. While Ferdinand could be self-absorbed, she would never describe him as stupid. Over-eager and keen, yes, but far from dull. As for Lysithea...it would not be a stretch for anyone to notice their abundant similarities._I wonder, d__id she scream like you did?_ Thales' mocking laughter entered her mind. She tensed instinctively. “And what exactly have you noticed?”

“Well...” He smiled broadly, like a puppy presenting a gift. His eyes sparkled; shrewd and knowing. “I’ve noticed that you check in on her periodically. I thought it was strange, especially when you don’t do that for anyone else. I also noticed that you share more than a few characteristics.”

“Such as?” Edelgard prodded.

“Ashen hair, short build, a taste for sweets...” He twisted his wrist, looking smug. “Shall I go on?”

“Good for you.” She kept her tone neutral, even as her shoulders gathered tension. Her hand flexed lightly at her side. “And what has all these things lead you to believe?”

“So you’re going to make me say it.” Ferdinand shook his head, appearing vaguely disappointed. “As you wish. Lysithea von Ordelia is...the illegitimate daughter of Emperor Ionius!”

There was a period of strained silence as Edelgard took his words in. She exhaled heavily, previous stress falling off like water. _Of all the idiotic theories…_

“You think she’s the base-born daughter of my father.” Her voice affected a bored intonation. “Ferdinand, I’m at a loss for words. Truly.”

“Then…?”

“She’s not related to me in any fashion. If you paid attention to your previous Emperor at _any _point, you would know she looks nothing like him. Honestly, did you spend so much time staring at his boots you forgot his face?”

His expression sunk into chagrin. Ferdinand chuckled uncomfortably, rubbing the side of his nose.

“Ah, well...I just thought...I mean, he had white hair––”

“He was aging, and sick besides.” This time, she did not stop herself from rolling her eyes. Edelgard flicked back her hair imperiously. “Next time you have unsubstantiated ideas about my family, take care not to voice them aloud. Good day, Sir Aegir.”

She left him standing there without a backwards look. Though she would never admit it, his observations had taken her off guard. If Ferdinand saw that much...what had someone more perceptive seen? Linhardt...Hanneman...had they drawn the conclusion Ferdinand failed to? There was nothing shameful in it, she knew. They were all aware of Those Who Slithered. Still, something within cringed in horror at the thought of them knowing. Even for Lysithea, a girl who shared the same sordid past, to be aware of the darkness that had swallowed and chewed her whole…

Edelgard did not wish such painful knowledge on anyone. It was safer to keep them ignorant; free of the creeping shadows which stalked the night. She thought of the other girl, face young and pliant as she stared up at her father. Edelgard wondered if the man had tried to shield her back then. Did he rail at the men who came, or protect her with his substantial frame? No, she decided, if the Count truly had attempted such he would be nothing more than dust under Thales’ feet. Which was better, in the end? To try and fail, or live with proof of your weakness. She didn’t have the answer.

The Count only stayed two days before leaving back the way he came. It appeared his visit had been purely out of concern for Lysithea, though he did offer the services of House Ordelia. He promised to try and sway the other Houses in favor of the Empire, but could not guarantee anything. The Emperor did not expect anything more than that. The man did not trust her, and he was clever for it. Hers was a long shadow with unfathomable reach, even before she had taken the throne. The Count would never forget such an irrefutable truth. After all, the end of one Emperor’s reign did not mean the end of everything that came prior. Lysithea did not shed tears when he left. Instead, she stood at her Emperor’s side. Loyal and stalwart.

_We will not succumb,_ Edelgard thought as she watched the carriage vanish into the distance, _we will not bend nor break._ _The dark will not take us again._

She dared not say the words aloud, for fear of listening ears. Yet she imagined Lysithea could hear her all the same. Ferdinand had been close in his assessment. They were cut from the same cloth, with the same jagged knife.

* * *

Rumors started to trickle down from the north that Lord Charon was killed in a tragic accident. The man had been en-route to Fhirdiad when his carriage had overturned into a ravine. He had been crushed instantly, as well as his eldest son. Curiously the carriage driver was missing. The horses were detached as well, and had presumably fled. An arrow had been found at the scene, steel flecked with blood. Treachery was suspected, but not sustained in the accident. The ravine of note had taken traveler’s lives before and there were far too many who were content to let the matter rest. The Lord was not a popular man; the suspected involvement of his daughter in the Tragedy of Duscur had never been forgotten. Lord Charon’s youngest, a milksop of a boy barely old enough to hold a blade, deferred all concerns to his maternal uncle.

Lord Gideon was an opportunistic sort. Greedy and impetuous to a standard. His House had never held much prominence in the Kingdom, nor had the crown ever granted them favor. An alliance with the mineral rich region of Charon had bolstered their position, but in Lord Gideon’s mind there was always room to expand. So it was only natural that a man such as he would look for greener pastures. Emperor Edelgard knew the type well. Ultimately, the Lord would be disposed of after his purpose had been served. For the time being he was a valued ally whose cooperation would be invaluable in the eventual capture of Fhirdiad. Gideon would continue supplying the Faerghus soldiers until she commanded otherwise. Slowly, the Lord would feign a dry year for the Charon mines. Iron and steel would be scarce. Before Dimitri sought relief from the Alliance, or other neighbors, the Empire would strike. She would cripple the Lion with its own claws.

The Lord Regent sent a letter once he got word of these events. His praise had been effusive, if colored with vague threats. It was clear that Thales despised her cunning even as he was impressed by it. He was right to think of her as a threat. Edelgard tossed the letter into her hearth, and watched as it blackened to ash. The time would come, she consoled herself. Soon.

Until then, the monastery was settled into an apprehensive peace. Skirmishes with Faerghus had grown scarce, and Leicester raids had been few. The looming threat of the Church sat like a pall on everyone’s mind, as did the fear of King Dimitri’s retaliation. So far the Knights of Seiros had not come to siege Garreg Mach, and the Ohgma pass remained clear of Kingdom sapphire and silver. The Empire enjoyed the relative reprieve, but their eyes remained on the horizon nonetheless.

It was on one lazy day, the Emperor found herself strolling to the training grounds. Felix had requested a spar, eager as ever to test himself. Edelgard had acquiesced gracefully. The man wasn’t her favorite of the Kingdom nobles, but he had proven to be a wonderful training opponent. He was the only one who didn’t pull his blows against her, nor was he afraid of injury. On the way to the arena a curious noise caught her attention. A hissing sound, or near approximate to one.

“Psst...Your Majesty!”

Edelgard turned her head, and spotted wide grey eyes. It was Bernadetta, her head poking from her quarters like a mole. The girl looked to the side before beckoning her again.

“U-Um, please come here. I have to show you something!”

“Is this urgent?” Edelgard tried to curtail her instinctive sigh of exasperation. She adored Bernadetta, truly, but she had been looking forward to hitting something. She had woken up in a sour mood, and it had only grown more so with Ferdinand’s incessant pestering. Even a sizable promotion to acting Prime Minister could not dissuade the man’s need to prove himself.

“Er...” Bernadetta glanced back into her room. She worried her lip between her teeth. “Maybe not, but Bernie _really_ wants to show you. Please?”

“Alright. I suppose I can spare a moment or two,” Edelgard relented. Felix would have to content himself with waiting. She was sure he could find someone to thrash in the meantime. Perhaps Ladislava or Caspar would oblige. Bernadetta opened her door wider as Edelgard approached. The girl’s face was a mix of emotions; nervous excitement at the forefront.

“A-Ah. Thank you, Your Majesty.” She made a quick bow when the Emperor stepped across the threshold. The room was surprisingly clean, if cluttered. Knitting material decorated the shelves along with books in uneven stacks. Canvas paintings were leaning against the far wall, most covered by a long tarp. A stuffed bear, seemingly old but patched carefully, was sitting in a chair. Strangely, a basket was placed in the middle of the room; just a yard away from Bernadetta’s bed. A sheet was thrown haphazardly atop it. Edelgard eyed the woven container warily.

“So what would you like to discuss?”

Bernadetta fidgeted in place, hands wringing in front of her. Then the young woman took a deep breath, her thin shoulders quaking.

“Well you see...” Her big eyes darted to the basket before moving to her feet. “Bernie sometimes takes care of the cats, a-and one of them was sick. Or I thought so! So I took him to my room, but it wasn’t actually a him at all. I just thought he was fat, er I mean _she_ was fat. But she wasn’t––”

“Bernadetta,” Edelgard sighed. She rubbed at her temple. “Does this story have a point?”

“Oh no...you’re getting mad aren’t you?! I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to waste your time! Stupid, stupid Bernie.” Bernadetta whimpered and covered her face. Edelgard blinked before schooling her features into something placid.

“You’re not stupid, Bernadetta. Please, calm yourself and finish the story.” She granted the other woman a smile. “You were saying something about a sick cat?”

“Okay. Right...” The tension drained from Bernadetta’s slight frame. She swallowed anxiously. “The cat wasn’t sick, or fat actually. She was just pregnant with kittens. She, um, had them in my room. I’ve been keeping them here, b-because they’re so small...”

“So a cat whelped kittens in your room.” Edelgard’s gaze drifted to the covered basket. Suddenly, she knew just what she would find underneath the sheet. Listening closely, she could just hear the soft sound of purring. “While that’s certainly interesting, I still don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

“Uh...well...” Bernadetta raised her head, eyes growing wider. She stepped cautiously towards the basket. “The Garland Moon was a few months ago and I know you said that we shouldn’t make a fuss, b-but it was still your birthday! So I thought it would be nice if you, um, got a gift. A-And this one kitten, she looks just like...” She cut herself off, trailing into silence. Her fingers twisted nervously. Then Bernadetta reached hesitantly for the sheet before pulling it off with a quick tug.

There were three of them, all tiny and dewy-eyed. Their bodies were quite plump, obviously well taken care of by Bernadetta. Two had sleek coats of white, with spots of brown and black around folded ears. They continued to sleep, their small chests rising steadily. The last one was bigger than its siblings, and draped in glossy dark fur. It stared up in curiosity, locking eyes with the dumbfounded Emperor.

“Oh...” Edelgard whispered out, despite herself. She watched as the kitten yawned, a hint of milk teeth bared. It’s eyes closed before opening again; a brilliant cornflower blue that she had only seen on humans before. One person in particular came to mind. Her heart throbbed dully. “I think I understand now.”

“Really?” Bernadetta squeaked. Her eyes darted from the kitten to her liege. Edelgard managed a nod, before reaching out to touch the animal. It leaned into her hand; a handsome little thing with a proud face. Then, as is the nature of cats, it batted at her fingers mercurially.

“She’s an ornery one,” Edelgard observed, mouth twitching. “Not quite like the Professor, but somehow I think the name would be appropriate.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t mind me.” She picked up the squirming ball of fluff. It huffed at her, blinking slow. She used her thumb to pat the fur on its head. “Shall we call you that then? Professor?”

The kitten stared at her for a long moment. Then it yawned again before purring gently. A good enough confirmation as any. Edelgard kissed one of the twitching ears.

“Thank you, Bernadetta. I think this is my favorite birthday present yet.”

Some time later, on the anniversary of Garreg Mach’s siege, the Emperor was spotted walking to the graveyard. A bundle of blue hydrangeas were in her hands, neatly arranged into a bountiful bouquet. At her heels, a black kitten trailed and batted at her crimson cape.

**Next Chapter: The Year of Causality and Ashes**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh boy. This is a VERY talky segment, but I hope you guys liked it! I wanted to have a lighter chapter, because between the last one and the next...things are about to get dicey. I know some are you thinking, 'this is lighter??', and that's a fair argument. It does explore some tough themes, things which we know happened in canon but didn't have time to lay all the cards out. I personally headcanon El as feeling conflicted about her Father's reign, and also about the man himself. Did he fail her? Was he merely a victim? Eh, that's for you guys to think on. The same could be said for Ingrid and Lysithea. We don't explore much about the latter's family, but we know they're alive (mostly). She SAYS they were helpless, but were they? Or did they not even bother, for fear of the Empire? (honestly, I was very close to calling this 'Daddy Issues, the Chapter').  
As for Bernadetta, I COULD have talked about her dad, but we know that story already. It would have ended up as repeating the things said in Ingrid's segment. Besides, I couldn't resist the thought of Bernadetta just living her best life, taking care of baby animals (might also be a thin excuse for El to get a cat). I hope you guys enjoyed Petra's brief appearance! I love Petrathea, but it's a bit hard to explore from Edelgard's point of view. They'll get more time in the epilogue, including Byleth. Tell me how you guys felt today! Still feeling good? I take any and all criticism.  
Thanks again! - AdraCat


	5. The Year of Causality and Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crisis to the west forces the Emperor to take action. The topic of culpability is discussed and evaluated, both in war and not.
> 
> Also Known as: Edelgard plays a game of what-if with several different people. It goes how you might expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! - Please do not read if you cannot handle graphic depictions of violence/torture. Light spoilers for Silver Snow are also contained below.  
Continue at your own discretion.

**Chapter 4 – The Year of Causality and Ashes**

“So...the cat is named Professor?”

“Yes.”

“Uh...okay. Why not Byleth?”

Edelgard raised her head, quill stilling in her hand. She stared hard at the man before her. Caspar Bergliez was sitting across from her desk, sharp blue eyes focused on the animal perched on a window sill. He ran a hand through his hair, now shaven and cut asymmetrically. It suited him far better than the look he sported before, though she would never bolster his ego by telling him. He heard it far enough from the tittering servants who watched him spar by the training grounds. She wondered if those admirers knew about his tendency to spill food down his shirt. Caspar made a clicking noise with his tongue. Professor, hardly concerned with the heavily armored gentleman, merely flicked her ear.

“Do you not like the name I chose, Sir Bergliez?” She asked him, brow raised. He winced before scratching his cheek.

“No, it’s fine! I just don’t think it’s a good name for a cat. I mean if you want to name it after someone, fine. But you didn’t really name it after...well, you know.” He waved his hand awkwardly. “I just think Byleth would be better.”

“How so?” The Emperor watched as Professor leapt down from her perch. The cat, growing into her adolescence, meowed at her heels. She picked her up and plopped her down on the desk.

“Um, because it’s an actual _name._”

“I, for one, enjoy the name.” Linhardt, nosy as a fox, strolled into the study with a flourish. He stopped by Caspar’s shoulder, eyes sliding to where Professor had curled into a furry ball. The cat’s tail wrapped languidly around Edelgard’s wrist.

“Linhardt,” The Emperor greeted, if a tad warily. She frowned. “I don’t recall sending for you. Is there something you need?”

“Nothing at present. I was just on my way from the library when I heard you two jabbering on.” The slight young man brushed back his hair, as blithe as ever. “Perhaps I learned something interesting. Perhaps not.”

“Oh come _on_, Lin. Don’t leave us in suspense!” Caspar grinned widely. His restless disposition was evidently piqued.

“Had you uncovered something of note? I was under the impression you had read everything in Garreg Mach’s collection already.” Edelgard placed her hands underneath her chin, granting him her full attention. Linhardt had been searching for a way dispatch the Immaculate One at her behest, but the information had been middling so far. Legends about the Goddess and ancient Imperial accounts seemed as good a place to look as any. While the Monastery had regulated the reading material to a compulsive degree, it would hardly surprise her if something had appeared under Rhea’s notice.

“That is true, I have.” Linhardt lifted his shoulder into an immodest shrug. “However, once I stopped thinking about what I had found, I realized what I _hadn’t_.”

“Which would be…?” Caspar looked up at his friend, puzzled.

“The first-hand accounts of the Saints. Older records from the first battle of the Tailtean. Anything from the era of Saint Seiros, in fact.” The amateur scholar nodded his head firmly. A peculiar light was in his eyes, as well as an uncharacteristic passion. He rarely was this animated, if ever. “Also there doesn’t seem to be any documented records of Lady Rhea’s ascendancy to Archbishop. Nothing about Rhea’s life before either.”

“That is peculiar. But an inhuman creature such as she would no doubt obscure her origins,” Edelgard mused. Professor stirred before rolling onto her back. She lightly tapped the cat’s head as she began to paw at her sleeve. A spoiled animal, but she adored her all the same. “What is your point exactly, Linhardt?”

“Nothing at the moment. I have a theory, but until I find proof I’m just running on conjecture.” His brow crinkled as his mouth pursed. A compressed sigh escaped through his nose. “I do find it suspect that the Central Church would keep such important texts from the students. If there was nothing substantial to hide, why not allow the public to see it? Professor Hanneman agrees that the circumstance is odd.”

“I don’t know about the historical stuff, but as for Rhea maybe her past was embarrassing; or something,” Caspar ventured. He tilted back his chair, rocking it with his feet. Professor jerked up, head swiveling in his direction. Slit pupils watched him with sudden fascination.

“Something that simplistic? I don’t believe it. We are speaking of a woman who can don the form of a dragon. No, there has to be something deeper.” Linhardt scoffed.

“You never know. I knew this one friend of my Dad’s, great big soldier type with a fantastic beard.” Caspar rubbed his jaw before jerking his fingers in an exaggerated sweep. “Like that. Anyway, he used to be a real wimp and had a bad stutter. My Pop teased him for it relentlessly. Now this guy is built like a bull, but he would get all mopey whenever my Dad brought it up. People hate being reminded of the past, especially if it was terrible.”

“A fine point. Still, I can’t help but think there is more. Why hide the accounts of Tailtean, or the Saints?”

“Seteth was rather obsessed with organizing the library, as I recall.” The Emperor chimed in. She pushed her hair back, despairing slightly at a slight tangle. Perhaps she needed to reconsider the length. “It’s possible he took the texts with him when they fled. Anything that would further their doctrine would need to be preserved. He likely did not want anything falling into ‘heretical’ hands.”

“I suppose.” Linhardt visibly deflated, his enthusiasm turning to ash. Caspar stood suddenly. He stretched his arms above his head before giving a hearty clap to the other man’s shoulder.

“Cheer up, Lin! You got time to sort this out. And hey, if there _is_ something fishy going on; I know you’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Your confidence is reassuring,” The taller man said wryly. Linhardt bowed in Edelgard’s direction. “If I do discover anything I will inform Her Majesty at once. There must be some record of the Immaculate One hidden somewhere.”

“I have faith in your ability.” She nodded at him in acknowledgment. The man was dedicated when he wished to be, she would grant him that much. It was only a shame he didn’t apply the same amount of enthusiasm to everything else in his life. An old argument, one she knew it would fall on deaf ears at this point. With a lackadaisical wave, Linhardt exited the study. Caspar sighed before crossing his arms.

“Ugh that guy...he really needs to slow down some. I caught him sleeping in his soup the other day. He’s lucky he didn’t drown!”

“I’m sure your worry heartens him.” Edelgard said, picking her quill from the desk. Her General rubbed his neck; bashful.

“Worry? Me? No, I just think he should ease up on the research thing. Anyway, I got to meet Felix for some drills. The new recruits have been giving us some guff lately.”

“Take care not to break them. I would like a functional army, if you will.”

He laughed, quick and loud as a bellows. Professor startled from her position, fur standing on end. Edelgard smoothed the hair down with a calming hand. The cat chirped, and nuzzled deeper into the touch. Caspar smiled sheepishly.

“Heh, sorry. But if you knew the sorry saps Enbarr has been sending us, you’d laugh too. Second, or third, in line nobodies who were raised close to the teat. You know the type, soft and looking for glory.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Hey, you know I worked hard not to be like that.” Caspar placed a hand over his chest, as if wounded. His eyes only betrayed gentle amusement, however. “See you later, Edelgard. Try not to work yourself to death.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Caspar leaned in to give Professor a playful pat on the head. The cat was far from amused, and swiped his gauntlet with her claws. Then he strolled out of her study, whistling an old Adrestian war song. Edelgard waited a long moment to see if he would return. When it was clear both men had left, she pulled something from the bottom drawer. It was a book, bound in leather and beginning to come apart at the seams.

Many of the pages were yellowed with age, and curled lightly at the edge. She had been disposing of Rhea’s affects when she found this. It had been tucked carefully beneath a false panel in the desk, and had she not been looking for such covert methods it likely would have gone unnoticed. It was a startling find. One she was not keen to share.

Edelgard flipped it open, careful not to rip the binding. Most of the older entries were written in a strange script; the language foreign and indecipherable. She had thought it was a code of some sort, but the later writing seemed to contradict that assumption. Her eyes roved over the pages, one by one, until she came to the entry which had piqued her interest. At the back of the book the strange language slowly changed into the Fόdlan dialect, allowing her to read certain sections. She began to read one in particular.

_..._ _failed attempt. So many years and time wasted, and yet there is nothing to show for it. The girl lived, but Mother is still gone. How can that be? The crest stone should hav__e taken..._

It devolved into the strange language once more. She flipped the page.

_The girl, the _ _ **failure** _ _, has become smitten with Jeralt. I see the way he looks at her too. The knight _ _I had saved_ _ who pines for the woman with Her crest...is it fate? We shall see what fruits are born from this union. Perhaps the girl did not fail me, after all._

Edelgard felt her brow furrow at the mention of Jeralt. The journal belonged to Rhea, that much was clear, but the woman she kept mentioning…The girl, she called her. The failure. What did she mean by that? Yearning to learn more, she sought the next legible entry.

..._fell with child, as I predicted. Yet the child was still. No breath, no life. The girl begged me to save it; this __blooded__ mass of dead flesh. Pitiful. I would have done so without her plea. How else would Mother…_

More indecipherable script. Another turn of the page.

_It worked, as I knew it would. The child breathed, though the eyes are vacant. No matter, it has served its purpose well. Once it is of the proper age I will attempt to reach _ _Her_._ Jeralt may be a hindrance, however. _ _H__e looks at me now as if I am Nemesis come again. I worry he may do something...drastic. I do not wish for it to come to that._

Edelgard reached the end, frowning. It appeared that several pages were hastily torn out, the evidence still left within the book binding. She closed the journal with a flick of her hand. How peculiar. A mystery with many players. Rhea, Jeralt, and an unknown woman. Then there was the stillborn child...what manner of atrocity did Rhea commit which allowed her to breath life into the dead?

The crest she spoke of, did that possibly…?

There were no answers, save those she would find at Rhea’s feet. It was a galling thought. Edelgard sighed, and idly played with Professor's tail. The cat meowed in protest, but did not move away. Her mind turned madly with her troubled thoughts. _Byleth...did you know the secrets your father kept? That child...had it __possibly__ been you, my teacher?_ The thought of the woman being born a corpse sent shivers down her spine. She did not want to think of it.

Byleth had been quiet and stern, perhaps, but her eyes had contained life. Her smiles, while rare, were heartfelt; filled with unspoken emotion. Edelgard would never forget the trembling set of her shoulders, nor the wet trail of tears cascading down her cheeks. The woman had been despondent in the wake of Jeralt’s death; inconsolable. A person like that...was more than an empty husk in the game of monsters and man. Whatever the truth, she would carry the memory of the woman with her forever.

Edelgard buried the journal back under the false panel. Perchance she would find the missing pages another day. Until then, the little book would remain in her possession. There was no need to stir the water, especially if her burgeoning suspicion proved true. That first legible entry, one she dared not look at for too long, disturbed her with its implication.

..._It is strange to hear that name from Seteth’s lips. I do not think he even realized before he said it. Seiros...no, I cannot be __that__ any longer. __That name is a sword, a weapon that is wield__ed__ in Her name. For now__...I will be Rhea. And only thus…_

* * *

The rainy season stole quickly over the monastery, bringing with it torrential downpour. It was not often they saw such weather, sequestered in the maintains as they were, and anticipating it was difficult. The Emperor had hoped to send a regiment of Pegasi to the port of Boramas; the reigning Lord was a cousin to Duke Aegir and he had proved quite troublesome when securing a naval force. A reminder of his duty by the Emperor herself should be enough to sway him, but she would be sending one of her Strike Force as a matter of intimidation. They had garnered a reputation for solving stubborn disputes, and word had spread that they should not be trifled with. To meet a member of the infamous Black Eagles was an assured sign that you had earned the Emperor’s ire.

She had wanted to send Ingrid to attend to the matter, but the woman was currently flying to Enbarr on her behalf. Instead, another was to take her place. Leonie Pinelli had settled quite comfortably in her role as Lieutenant of the Corps; a steadfast knight that was sure to make her idol Jeralt proud. Ever since that disastrous day in Gloucester, the commoner had been determined to prove herself useful. Her initiative soared, and with it came the Emperor's approval. Edelgard had long since forgiven Leonie for the lapse in judgment, but the woman would not be deterred. Guilt was a firm motivator it appeared.

Sadly, it would seem her plans would need to be postponed. Edelgard frowned up at the sky, having taken refuge underneath the cathedral. Water flooded the walkway, and spilled off the edge onto the cliffs below. It would be dangerous to attempt the walk back to the main building. She huffed in exasperation before making her way to the pews. All around her, soldiers crowded the cathedral in a mass of Imperial armor. They stared at the sky in much the same manner as she had, their hands nervously curled around lance and shield. Waiting was not something they dealt well with either.

“Fancy seeing you here, Your Majesty.” A man’s voice came from her right, tone light and self-satisfied. Suddenly, Sylvain slid into the same pew; grinning like an over-eager hound.

“Sylvain.” Edelgard lingered upon his name, reluctant. It was not that she despised the man, he had proven himself loyal if nothing else, but she did tire of his overtures. Thankfully, he had never overstepped his bounds when it came to her. “I had not pinned you as one of the faithful. What brings you here?”

“Eh, you know...” He shrugged, dismissive and unaffected. “I thought I would go for a walk, maybe scope the grounds for a date. Sadly, no lovely ladies crossed my path. Well, until now.”

“The thin excuses you make to prey on your next conquest baffle me.” Edelgard flicked her hair, annoyed at the water that had gathered. She ignored his flirtation with pointed efficiency. “Does it ever get old, I wonder? Toying with their hearts as you do?”

“Oh, frosty!” Sylvain laughed, but it was stilted; half-hearted. “Actually...I was just doing some thinking. Remembering things and such.”

“As in…?”

“Silly stuff. Like my family when all of us were together.” He looked away, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “My uh...my brother. He loved the rain.”

“I presume you’re talking about Miklan.” Edelgard observed him, noting the dry sweep of his hair. He had not been caught under the downpour, it would seem. Sylvain lifted his shoulders again, a stubborn set to his mouth.

“Yeah, Miklan. The idiot.” Conflict passed over his face, a harsh shadow that pinched his features. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about this. He _did _cause a lot of trouble.”

_ “_You are allowed to miss the man, if you like. We cannot help what we feel for those we have lost.” Edelgard breathed in slowly. She thought of the grave she was going to visit. Another bouquet of hydrangeas was needed once the rain had passed. Sylvain didn’t notice her distraction. He nodded distantly.

“Yeah I get that, but I don’t think that’s it. Not really.” His lip lifted, baring teeth. “What he did...I can’t forgive him. But at the same time I wonder if I could have done _something_.”

“How so? By my measure, it was your parents who set him on that path. Not you.”

“Maybe officially, but it was my birth which started everything.” Sylvain leaned forward in the pew, gripping his knees. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I wish I wasn’t born, but if I didn’t have a crest either...would he still be alive? Would his victims be?”

“Perhaps that is true.” Edelgard watched as he flinched. She regretted her bluntness for a moment, but continued on. “I still believe the weight falls upon your parents. They held the most power in that situation.”

“But if I were just like Miklan, or if I had insisted on him staying the heir, what would have happened?”

“I don’t think anyone can say for certain,” Edelgard stated. Her brow furrowed. “But you are right in one respect. Society failed us all, as assuredly as any divine creature. That is why it must be changed. For the good of all people, crest or no.”

“Preaching to the choir, Emperor.” Sylvain smiled, the heavy shadows from before fleeing from his face. “You don’t have to give me any more incentive. I got lots to spare.”

Abruptly he stood from the pew, stretching his arms above his head.

“I think I’m going to chance the rain. I promised to meet a beautiful lady in the dining hall soon. See you later, Your Majesty.”

Sylvain strode off, hands folded behind his neck. It did not escape Edelgard that his knees had been creased with dirt. Despite his prior claim, the man had been praying. She did not fault him for the effort. The circumstance of his birth and ascension to heir had affected him greatly. Just another casualty in a broken system.Perhaps she had misjudged him, if only a bit. Edelgard stole a glance at the clouds. The rain was passing, slow and steady.

* * *

Fall had just begun to wane when a group of villagers darkened the gates of Garreg Mach. They were unarmed and lightly clothed, bearing no hint of intention to barter. Instead they sought an audience with the Emperor. It was a harmless enough request, one she did not mind granting. These were citizens of the Empire; loyal and tax-abiding. They would not decide to approach her without good reason. She decided to speak with them in the Audience chamber, poised carefully upon the Archbishop’s gilded seat. Hubert was at her side, ever watchful.

The leader of the villagers was a rail-thin gentleman. His beard was unkempt, though it appeared he did his best to smooth the tangled mop of his hair. He bowed low without folding his arm, an improper showing, but it was to be expected from a man born outside nobility. She nodded her head in acknowledgment.

“Rise, good sir. Tell me, who are you and why have you sought my counsel?”

“The name be Oskar, Ye Highness.” The color of his eyes was a watery green. He kept them averted pointedly at her feet. “I hail from Erde––”

“Your Majesty.” Hubert spoke over the man. His lime gaze was cool. “The proper form when addressing the Emperor is ‘Your Majesty’.”

“I...” The man’s throat bobbed like a pendulum. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he wiped it quickly. He bowed again. “Beggin’ pardon, Ye Majesty. I don’t mean to be offendin’ ye.”

“None was taken, I assure you.” Edelgard spared a withering glance to her retainer. If Hubert received the message, he gave no indication. His face was schooled into vague disinterest, as was his wont. The villager fidgeted anxiously before continuing.

“I-I hail from Erde, it be a small community near the Brionac. Just on the edge of Arundel.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Apologies.” The Emperor frowned at the admittance. She needed to brush up on her geography. The ruler of Adrestia required awareness of all settlements under their rule, not just those that held noble Houses. Since the war began, such concerns had fallen by the wayside.

“That doesn’t be surprisin’ me.” Oskar lifted his bony shoulders into a limp shrug. “We don’t see much trade, bein’ so close to the plateau. Even less now, what with Faerghus and all...”

“While I find this all very fascinating, the Emperor’s time is precious. Would you please state the intent of your journey here?” Hubert tone was clipped. He stared down the commoner, a faint twist to his mouth.

“Y-Yes, ‘course,” The older man mumbled. His neckline was becoming stained with his nerves. “Erde might be small, but we got a tight knit community. Some folks families have lived there generations back. Now we don’t be wardin’ off newcomers. Glad for ‘em mostly. But lately we been havin’ a strange turn.”

He swallowed and rubbed his face with a damp hand.

“Year ago, or so, some fellas decided to stay. We thought they were decent, doin’ work when they can and the like, but lately...well they start sayin’ some odd things. Preachin’ about Seiros and all.” Oskar bent his head before grimacing.

“I’m a loyal follower of the Goddess, beggin’ pardon Majesty, but these men take it too far. They...they don’t much care for ye neither, and they got some grief they spend. Now I don’t keep faith in the Archbishop no more, not since Majesty’s decree, but it was not long ago that Erde would call upon the Knights to deal with this sort o’ thing. But these men claim they’re from the Central Church, so we’re lost...”

“Are they becoming violent?” Edelgard clasped the throne in an iron grip. She felt her lips raise into a snarl. The commoner’s expression darkened.

“They spend their anger how they like. It was just scraps here and there first, like a man will swing when he got his blood up, but then it got worse. They takin’ men into the forest if they don’t like what he said. Tie ‘em, beat ‘em, and lately they be gettin’ bolder.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if struggling internally. Then he pulled off his tunic, baring his back to the Emperor. Along his shoulder blade was a ragged burn, the flesh bubbled and pocked. A metal ring had been tossed into a forge, then pressed to his skin like a brand. She heard Hubert take in a breath beside her. Something cold settled in her stomach; an icy chill flooded her veins. Oskar placed his clothing back on gingerly.

“Friend o’ mine they didn’t stop at just brandin’. He said he don’t believe in the Goddess none, nor the Archbishop, so they s-strapped him to a tree and built a bonfire. I-I remember him screamin’ for mercy, yet they didn’t give it. They keep sayin’ the Goddess told ‘em to do it; that men who don’t follow Rhea are heretics. They be repeatin’ the same thing too.” He lifted his shaggy head. “The twin-headed Eagle will burn.”

* * *

“We _are_ going, right?”

Caspar, eyes uncharacteristically hard, stared at his Emperor from the table’s end. The Black Eagles were gathered in entirety, called to order by the pressing issue brought to their attention. Edelgard was seated at the head, her hands clasped tight upon the wood. To her right, Ferdinand was scowling; his expression black with rage.

“Of course we are.” He spat, incensed. “These blackguards need to be disposed of. Hurting the innocent, claiming it is the will of the Goddess...such despicable men cannot remain in Erde!”

“In this, we are agreed,” Hubert sniffed, standing at the Emperor’s back. “Trash such as them needs to be disposed of..._violently._”

“I believe we should try to capture them.” Linhardt mused from his chair. He tapped a thoughtful finger to his cheek. “This sounds like an organized group, likely with a figurehead spurring them to action. It would be wise to find and cut off the snakes head, if you will, before this gains more traction.”

“You think this behavior will spread?” Dorothea turned to face him. Her features were blanched with alarm.

“Oh, undoubtedly. Once a certain belief has been introduced, all it takes is for someone to get a taste for it. From there it snowballs. It was how the Church of Seiros got its foothold in the first place.”

“Yeah...I’ve seen that happen.” Leonie chimed in, leaning against the closed doors. She scowled down at her hands. “Group of boys in my village took to beating dogs in their spare time. It all started because they saw a knight kick one aside one day. I had to thrash them something fierce before they finally stopped. Say what you want, but people are impressionable. Hell, I based my whole life around being a mercenary because I wanted to be just like the man I admired.”

“So we may have an epidemic on our hands if we’re not careful.” Edelgard mused darkly. She pursed her lips into a thin line. “I see only one solution, then. We must purge these men from Erde as quickly as possible.”

“I concur!” Lysithea crossed her arms, small frame practically trembling with anger.

“Beasts, all of them.” Felix snarled. His teeth were bared. “The mindless mass headed by a heartless serpent. I’ll find them all, I swear to you.”

“And here I was thinking this month would be quiet.” Sylvain chuckled without humor. He placed a steadying hand upon his friend’s arm. Surprisingly, Felix did not shake him off. “We’re at your service, Your Majesty. Give us the order and we’ll be en-route.”

“I’ll go as well, Edie.” Dorothea said, voice tight. Her face was shadowed with worry. “The people will need healing, likely more than Linhardt alone can provide.”

“And so will I.” Ingrid stated firmly, hands wrapped around her lance.

“I am not being sit out either.” Petra stood abruptly from her chair. A fierce conviction was burning in her gaze.

“Then I suppose it’s decided.” Edelgard stood slowly, leaning over the table. She met all of their eyes, and saw the mutual determination that lay there. “The Black Eagle Strike Force will go to Erde. May Rhea’s followers face their end with dignity.”

“For the Empire!” Caspar thrust his fist into the air, grin wide and vicious.

“For the people.” Dorothea added gently, amending the statement. It was a rallying cry they could all agree with. As one the Strike Force bowed to their Emperor. Edelgard watched them; feeling nothing but pride. _These brave men and women who believe in a better worl__d...__I shall give it to them. It will be the last promise I make, and the one I will do my best to fulfill. _She wondered what Byleth would say in this moment.

_ Are you just as proud as I am, my teacher?_ She desperately hoped that was the case. _Look upon us fondly. __P__lease__._

* * *

The situation was far worse than imagined.

Erde was a small settlement, as the villager had described. It was nestled at the mouth of the Brionac Plateau, arching cliffs of red rock forming a natural barricade in the distance. At Erde’s eastern edge, the forest of Arundel spiraled high into the heavens, thick with leaves of evergreen. The conifers stretched northward and reached to where the border of Faerghus met Imperial lands. Fields of tilled earth greeted visitor’s that traveled by the southernmost road. It was rustic in its beauty; and it would have been even more so, had it not been for the trails of smoke that emitted from its center.

As the Black Eagles rode into the village, poles of blackened wood hailed them; a grisly parade. Remnants of rope and bone still clung to them in a maudlin embrace; ashes at the feet of each molten obelisk. The Imperial troops dared not look at them for long. Only Edelgard stared into the horror without flinching. She tried to make out their features, hoping to parse what they must have been in life. A farmer, a father? A husband, or brother? What terrors had they seen in those last moments?

_What monster was this, to take their lives so callously?_

The answer was not as important as retribution. One caught her eye, the ashes still smoldering with embers. The body was a blackened ruin; skin cracked under the fire’s blaze. Yet the head was remarkably preserved, a horrifying mercy. It had been a boy, young and lean with a fringe of brown hair. The strands hung in half-burned tufts around his ears. But the face...his face…

_Her youngest brother had always been small, frail for the proud lineage he carried. He looked the most like her, with light brown curls and _ _timid_ _ lavender eyes. She _ _had_ _ loved his laugh; a giggling chirp that stole from him in bursts _ _of air_ _. _ _Edelgard_ _ would _ _never_ _ hear it again, not in the cold spaces between each tortured scream._ _ He _ _had_ _ held her hand, fingers grazing the steel cuff around her wrist. _ _Then there was only _ _Thales, cruel specter, who tore him from her grasp. One of the first to leave, but not the last._

“We should move, Your Majesty.” Linhardt murmured, solemn.

Edelgard closed her eyes, hair falling over her brow. She did not brush it back.

“Yes...let’s go.”

The rest of the town seemed vacant. Whether they had fled, or were in hiding, was not clear. Silence filled the main road, as did the scent of death. Moving further in, rural cottages gave way to structured township. In the center, the spire of a church loomed. Edelgard had expected the men behind this would conceal themselves, for fear of Imperial retaliation if nothing else. Linhardt had thought much the same, and so they had prepared for an investigation. It would not prove necessary.

They were blatant and bold, garbed in the standard robes of the clergy. The symbol of the Central Church, the Immaculate One’s monstrous likeness, was painted upon the church doors. They stood in front of the structure, calm and unmoved. Their faces did not change, no hint of fear seen, even as the Emperor encroached. More than a few held torches and binding, their dark purpose made clear.

Edelgard held up her hand before clenching it into a tight fist. Her Eagles moved swiftly, and soon a tide of black steel surrounded the presumed fanatics. Still, the gathered mass did not flinch from their positions. One of them stepped forward. He was fresh-faced and alert with a close crop of fair hair. There was nothing manic in his movements, and only cool distaste was seen upon his face. Far from the blathering madman she had expected. Caspar and Ferdinand moved to apprehend him, but she stopped them short with a glance. Soon, the man was a few paces away. His cheeks were lined and leathery, suggesting a life lived under the harsh sun.

“Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg.” His lips lifted into a sneer, as if he tasted something sour. “I knew those fools would seek help from the Empire. I did not expect _you _to answer the call.”

“All Imperial citizens are under my protection.” Edelgard’s voice was steel, hard and unyielding. Her chest burned with the weight of her rage, but she muffled it to a dull roar. “When my people are beset by animals, it is only right that I bring such beasts to heel.”

“Beasts are we?” The man’s face crumpled into a mask of hatred. “We are the Champions of the faith!”

“Champions who slaughter the innocent. Who burn good men and women alive for nothing.” She retorted, hand curling by her side.

“Nothing? We are the divine sword of Seiros herself! Who else is there to punish the wicked heretics who slander the Goddess?! Lady Rhea said it herself! They _needed _to burn, these blasphemers who––”

The man’s rant ended as a gloved hand struck him across the face. He collapsed into the dirt, lip split. Blood trickled down his mouth in a stream. Behind his prone form, the rest of the supposed clergy eyed the Emperor with hostile unease.

“I doubt you committed a massacre on faith alone. If that were true, you would have acted far sooner than now.” Edelgard wiped her hand free of blood. She did not care to have anything of the wretch before her. “Tell me the real reason for this senseless bloodshed. If you refuse to, then I will pass my judgment here and now.”

“What would be the point?” The man hissed, blood and spittle flying from his mouth.

“I’m glad you asked.” She opened up her palm and gestured to the watching mass. “Black Eagles, relieve these _gentlemen _of their burden.”

At her order, they seized all the torches and twine. More than a few of the clergy tried to resist, but blade and fist soon dissuaded them from that course of action. They knew they were outnumbered. The assumed leader struggled to his knees. Edelgard watched him as if he were a worm crawling through the earth. Hubert sidled up to her before bequeathing an unlit torch. She took it from him, eyes never straying from the man before her. _No, not a man._ The title of humanity was a privilege the creature before her had not earned.

“You can either have a quick death, or a tortuous one. I will ask again, before I toss you and your followers to the flame...” She bore down on him, not a hint of mercy to be seen. “_Why_ have you done this?”

The cretin raised his head. His dark gaze was narrow, face pinched. Streaks of red down his neck before staining the pure white of his robe. Ruined, just as his intent. Then slowly, like a valve being turned, the hatred leaked from him. His shoulders slumped, and he appeared small; a shriveled husk of a person.

“Erde...it was just close to the border.” Something haunted crossed his creased face. “You don’t even know do you? What your crusade against the Church started.”

“Humor me,” Edelgard demanded.

“We lived in Faerghus, just a little north of here. Practiced and taught in the name of the Saint Seiros, as was our right.” His voice broke on the last word. “Then _you..._you forced the Western Church into our lands. _They_ were the real animals. Little more than bandits disguised as the faithful. Broken from their benefactor and cast from Lady Rhea’s light, they committed horrible atrocities. Families murdered for land and coin, women and children stolen for some ungodly purpose––”

“A convenient excuse.” Hubert scoffed.

“We were driven from our _home_.” The man spat again, but it was accompanied by a sob. “My daughter was killed in the fighting. A young girl of only ten! Those heathens took everything from us. When word came that it was by your decree they had fled, I knew the Empire..._you_ were to blame.”

“And so you vent your frustration on the helpless people of Erde.” Edelgard breathed in, struggling to contain her rage. It roiled inside her; a fierce and restless thing. The torch was heavy in her hands, bearing dark potential. How easy it would be, to gather these pathetic wretches and bind them to the church they so loved. How sweet the justice, to watch as their miserable flesh blackened to nothing. The boy she saw came to mind; perhaps young as the daughter this creature claimed to have.

_ Where was the Goddess then? _ _Where was she _ _ **now** _ _ when her supposed champions claimed to abide her will?_

The heavens were quiet. Edelgard had not expected anything different. She looked at the man, and observed his face. It was a tapestry of misery, painted with blood and tears. Pity was far from her mind, not for one such as he. The impulse to cast him into flame was heady. But a ruler was more than a collection of base desires. _She_ needed to be. Her hand dropped the torch, and instead reached for her axe.

“The difference between man and beast is the capacity for mercy. Since that distinction escapes you, I will demonstrate.” She raised her axe high above his head. The man did not meet her gaze. He stared at the ground, a broken thing till the end. “I, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, sentence you to death. Pray that the Goddess finds your soul worthy.”

The axe fell, cleaving his head from his shoulders. Then, the world was thrown into chaos. The remaining men attempted to fight or flee, but neither worked to their advantage. The Strike Force was merciless, disposing of them with ease. One by one they fell, white garbs becoming soaked through with crimson. It had not been a fight, to call it that would be far too generous. The men had not been armed, only bearing their means of torment. Wolves without teeth. The end came all too quickly, and soon the Imperial force stood alone amidst blood and ashes.

“That’s the last of them, Your Majesty,” Hubert said firmly. His hands still glowed with the dark mist of miasma. She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. Her throat felt dry; like bone scorched in the sun. Perhaps it was the lingering smoke in the air.

The Black Eagles did not bother to bury the misbegotten clergy. Felix and Caspar used a cart and piled their bodies together in a heap. Then they left them deep into the forest, allowing the animals to dine upon their bones. For the victims...there was little they could do. Only the remaining people of Erde could decide, though whether they would return at all was another matter. They took the time to cut down the ones that were still whole, and wrapped them in cloth. Then they covered them with earth, proper dignity given to the innocent.Dorothea, voice trembling, sang to them; a prayer and farewell at once.

The Strike Force had accomplished their task. Yet no one was heartened by the events that had taken place. They rode away from Erde in silence, leaving the smoldering remnants behind.

* * *

A few days after they returned from Garreg Mach, Edelgard found herself approached by Felix. The man insisted on testing himself against her, a request the Emperor usually did not mind granting. Their fights were drawn out affairs, as they were of similar strength and speed. Neither ceded any ground, and mercy was not something either particularly favored. Spars were to first blood, but theirs often strayed past that. Yet it was on this particular bout, Edelgard found herself faltering. Her steps were slow, her swings distracted. More than once, Felix was able to cut past her guard and swipe her side. One blow disarmed her entirely, forcing victory in the man’s favor. His blade was pressed to her throat, but he did not appear to enjoy the win. With a scowl Felix drew back. The look in his eyes was flinty.

“You didn’t even try.” He stated brusquely. “If you didn’t want to spar, you should have declined.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Edelgard walked to where her axe had been thrown. She picked it up, the weight oddly ponderous in her hands. “Forgive me, Felix. My mind was elsewhere.”

“So it seems.” The man’s tone was rough as ever, a no nonsense individual to the last. Felix sheathed his blade, the tail of his hair swaying in the wind. His eyes were narrowed; lending him a catlike mien. “By elsewhere, you mean Erde.”

“Is it that obvious?” The Emperor asked quietly. She looked up, avoiding his gaze. A bird was perched above, clinging to the top of a pillar. It was building a nest, by the looks of it. She heard Felix scoff, a harsh bark that echoed off the arena walls.

“Any fool could tell. The rest have been insufferable in wanting to talk about it.” His jaw clenched. “I don’t understand why. They were certain before we killed those wretches, why feel differently now?”

“For most of them, I imagine it was the first time they ever killed unarmed men.” Edelgard placed the axe mid the training stands. The steel glinted in sunlight, and she spied her own distorted reflection. “There is something undeniably different in taking the life of someone seemingly helpless.”

“Helpless,” Felix growled out the word, lips curled. “Those men were not _helpless_. They were beasts with fangs and claws, and only leaned to show their belly when faced with a predator they could not overcome. Death was too kind for their like.”

“Not everyone will feel that way.”

“And? If they cannot stomach culling men like that, then they are not fit to serve.” He paused, ocher gaze searching. She felt it upon her skin, a cutting judgment. “Do not regret the necessary. It is something my father told me years ago. The only thing of worth that sentimental fool ever taught me.”

“Regret would be the wrong word, I think.” She allowed her eyes to meet his own. “I would kill them again, gladly.”

“Then why are you bothered by it?” Felix sniffed, arms crossed in blatant disregard. It was a fine question. One she was not sure how to answer. Edelgard thought on it for a moment before answering.

“Perhaps it’s a matter of perspective. I think it is not what was done, but rather the circumstances surrounding it.”

“Semantics. They were crazed dogs who needed to be put down.”

“Perhaps you’re right in that,” Edelgard said simply. A dull ache settled at her temple. She tried to rub it away, but did not succeed. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire to my room. I feel a bit under the weather at the moment.”

“Do as you will.” Felix frowned, but nodded once in acknowledgment. She might have found such impertinence rude had it been anyone else, but concessions were made for the man. He was blunt and honest; thoughts displayed in full color. Men such as him and Caspar were rare. She would take any of his number over the insincere nobles she had known. Edelgard nodded back before striding to the arena doors. She stilled as he spoke again, tone marginally softer.

“A long time ago, on one of the first fields of battle I ever saw...” Felix trailed, struggling slightly. Then he huffed and forged on. “Dimitri and I cut down a group of rebels in Faerghus. Only a few of them had ever held blades, and it showed. They couldn’t have been much of a threat, but we were sent to deal with them.”

“What happened?” Edelgard turned back to him, unable to hide her curiosity. Felix’s mouth twisted down, and his countenance darkened to grim distaste.

“I’ll never forget it. Dimitri, the boy I had known and loved like a brother, struck them down like pigs. He relished the bloodshed, each savage and twisted moment. It was an animal’s hunger, and in his eyes I saw only the lust for more.” Felix looked away, clenching his sword in a white-knuckled grip. “I couldn’t trust him after that. It was our duty, yes, but we weren’t meant to enjoy it. Not like he did.”

“I see.” Edelgard was not surprised. She had seen the same primal fury on Dimitri’s face once before, and she would likely see it again. It was disheartening to hear, but far from unexpected. The boy he had been, and the man he _could_ have been, had long since been lost.

“I didn’t see that in your eyes that day.” Felix continued. His voice raised; strong and firm. “The path you lead is bloody, but you don’t lose yourself to mindless violence. You are not the Boar. And so I follow you...Your Majesty.”

“I thank you, Felix.” It wasn’t quite the answer she was searching for, but she appreciated his words all the same. Edelgard left him there among the steel and blooded ground, her back to him. In the corner of her eye she spotted a Ohgma hawk swoop down. It startled the smaller bird from before, causing it to inadvertently destroy the nest it had built. Causality was a strange thing.

She walked to her quarters, her thoughts growing more entwined. Regret? No, not for them. Felix had been wrong in that regard. She relished ending them; the only thing she despaired of was the fact she could not do it twice. Yet even as her axe fell, a curious sense of disquiet had filled her. A nagging question had entered her mind, and rooted underneath her careful composure. The tragedy of Erde and its people…

_Who was really to blame?_

Something curled inside her throat, weighted and cold. It stayed there stubbornly and refused to leave.

* * *

_ Edelgard sat quietly at the table, legs crossed. She brought a cup of tea to her lips. It was her favorite, but the Professor was well aware of that. Bergamot, steeped lightly, with no extra frills. It had been her mother’s preferred blend as well. The taste was familiar; nostalgic. She hummed, savoring each citrus note._

_ “You’ve outdone yourself, Professor."_

_ Byleth merely glanced at her. The woman was stirring her own tea, preferring just the slightest tang of honey._

_ “You’re starting to repeat yourself.” She leaned back, the thick tumble of her hair framing her face. The sun had turned the color oceanic, lush and vivid. “I believe you said the same last time.”_

_ “Did I? Forgive me, I can’t quite recall.” Edelgard watched as the tablecloth fluttered lightly in the wind. The pattern was odd, a mosaic that she could not quite piece together. In her periphery, she glimpsed a sliver of skin through a gap in dark armor. She kept her gaze carefully averted._

_ “My mind has been...scattered of late.”_

_ “Oh?” Byleth set her tea aside. Interest flickered in that keen gaze. “Why is that?”_

_ “I’ve been thinking about the subject of responsibility. Where fault should lie, and some such.” Edelgard waved her hand in an airy motion. “It’s silly. Just ignore me.”_

_ “Yet another thing for me to forget?” Byleth’s inflection did not change. It never did. Yet she could sense the wry humor that lay underneath the words. Her teacher was an odd one._

_ “Don’t start with that.” She huffed and tried hard not to be amused. The woman hardly needed encouragement._

_ “Very well. But I am interested, if you wish to explain.” Byleth gazed into the distance, not a hint of preference one way or the other. The line of her cheek was sharp, as was the cut of her jaw. Her profile was quite striking, something the Imperial princess loathed to notice._

_ “It’s truly not that significant. I just came across an old fable and it had me thinking...” Edelgard circled the rim of her cup, collecting the moisture. “How do we measure responsibility? Where does the line of culpability begin and end?”_

_ Byleth remained silent. Her stare was patient, awaiting more. The younger girl obliged._

_ “In the story, it describes a scenario where a woman is engaged to be wed to a Prince. The Prince loved her at first sight, but she cared nothing for him,” Edelgard went on to say. “She begs her father, a King, to release her from the engagement. However, because he would stand to gain much from the match; he forces them to marry.”_

_ “This is a...fable, you said?” Byleth frowned slightly, the edge of her lips turning downward. “For children?”_

_ “It’s a lesson, I think. But it’s not quite finished.” Edelgard worried a hole into the tablecloth with her finger. “The new husband attempts to consummate their marriage, but the woman is frightened and flees. She runs deep into the forest, knowing it contains all manner of beasts, when she comes upon a starving wolf.”_

_ “Ah. I think I see where this is headed. I presume she is eaten?”_

_ “Yes. She meets her end under the wolf’s jaws.” She took a sip, letting it sit on her tongue for a long while. Then Edelgard met the Professor’s level gaze. “The story is framed as a lesson about shirking responsibility. The author frames the Prince and King in a sympathetic light. The woman is depicted as vapid and frail.”_

_ “You don’t agree with this.” Byleth’s words did not contain a question. Her eyes gleamed sapphire in the light. Edelgard tilted her head forward._

_ “Was it really her actions that caused her death, or was she merely a victim of circumstance? How can we say the blame should rest solely upon her, when there are other factors at play?”_

_ “I see.” The Professor spun the sweets tray, before plucking a pastry from it. She set it upon her plate. “Out of curiosity, who do you think was to blame for her demise?”_

_ “There are too many answers,” Edelgard sighed. Frustration curved her mouth into a frown. “Ultimately, I would blame the Father.”_

_ “Interesting. Why is that?”_

_ “He desired the match above his own daughter. It was his greed which led to her being placed in that situation in the first place.”_

_ “Yet was it not the Prince’s desire which caused her to flee?” Byleth asked plainly._

_ “Perhaps, but he’s just a man who was granted power over her by another. The King allowed the match, so he’s the most culpable.”_

_ “Hmm. What about the wolf?”_

_ “It’s an animal. A starving one at that. You can hardly blame it for following instinct.”_

_ “So you place the burden of guilt upon the one with the most authority.” Her teacher considered her, steady and intense. Byleth refilled their cups swiftly. A soft breeze swept past them both, sending the woman’s faint scent to stir the air. It was floral, sweet and clean. Edelgard cleared her throat, suddenly uneasy._

_ “It’s only natural, I believe. Do you have another interpretation, Professor?”_

_ “I don’t much think about the hypothetical.” Byleth brushed back her hair, baring the pale of her neck. It was lovely, but so was everything else about the woman. The feelings this elicited was just a confused sense of envy, Edelgard decided. Surely only that. She bit her lip._

_ “But if you had to choose...who would it be?”_

_ “I suppose I would pick the woman.”_

_ “Why?” Edelgard blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected that. _

_ “I believe in the strength of the individual. Choosing one’s own path.” Byleth sipped her tea, as unaffected as ever. “She made hers deciding to follow her father’s order. Then again by running into a forest she knew was filled with deadly beasts.”_

_ “Then I suppose the story was made for you,” Edelgard said, more than a bit mulishly. Byleth did not laugh, it wasn’t her nature. She did, however, smile; faint and soft._

_ “Perhaps so.”_

* * *

Edelgard woke, a drawn out process complete with blurred vision and frazzled memories. She had been in the garden, hadn’t she? With the Professor….No. Loathsome reality crept back, piecing together the years she had spent without the woman. Her heart ached, and she traced a bare hand over where it rested. Gathering herself, Edelgard rose from the tangled bedding. Professor, the cat, meowed in protest. The animal had been resting quite serenely by her head until the rude interruption. She patted her lightly in apology. Then the Emperor cast her gaze about the room, searching for her gloves.

She did not like looking at the bare skin for long. Pale scars carved a grisly tale along her wrists; proof of her imprisonment. One hand held the story of a partial degloving, flesh marked by a gnarled half-moon which curved deep into her palm. It reminded her of failure.

_ She had strained against the chain, metal cold and solid, until her skin had started to give way. In the damp black abyss, her sister begged for their father. __She had pulled the chain over and over, until blood slicked down her arms._ Edelgard found the gloves and sheathed her ruined skin. She stared out the window.

Morning had just begun to break through the clouds. Gentle beams of light filtered through the pane. Edelgard was not one to sleep in, laziness held no place in the Empire, but Hubert was the one who typically woke her from slumber. Her dreams were often too heavy for her to break away alone. She wondered what had stolen her from that dream, bittersweet though it was. A rapping knock upon her door answered the question.

“Just a moment,” She called shortly. Edelgard tidied her appearance; the Emperor could not afford to look sloppy. Once she was appropriately garbed, taking the time to don the heavy cloak of her station, she moved to open the door. Edelgard had expected to see one of the Strike Force, perhaps the pestering face of Ferdinand or Hubert’s towering frame. Instead, an unexpected visitor lay beyond the threshold. Manuela stood casually, holding a jar of dubious looking paste.

“Professor.” Edelgard drew back slightly, surprised. On the bed, she heard the cat stir in response. “Manuela, I mean. Is there something you need of me?”

“Oh don’t trouble yourself any, Your Majesty.” The former opera singer waved her free hand rapidly before holding up the jar. “I just came by to drop this off. Hubert said you were complaining of headaches?”

“Ah...yes,” Edelgard said, somewhat reluctant. Her temple throbbed dully at the reminder. It had been far worse the night before, a splitting pain which drove her to distraction. It was slightly more manageable now, but such things were hard to predict. Edelgard moved back from the door, allowing the other woman to enter. “They’ve been quite numerous of late. Thank you, Manuela.”

“Never you mind. It’s the least I can do.” The woman placed the jar by the bed, the ends of her coat fluttering. Professor, curious to a fault, stared at the bright orange lace that lined her chest. Abruptly Manuela turned back to face her, brown eyes searching.

“These headaches...they began once you returned from Erde?”

Edelgard looked at her silently, before nodding.

“On the back to Garreg Mach,” She admitted. “I was thinking it was a side effect of smoke inhalation. But you would know better than I.”

“It _could_ be.” Manuela tapped her lips with her ever present crop. “But considering the circumstances I would amount it to stress.”

“Stress? Hardly.” Edelgard scoffed, but knew it sounded far more defensive than she meant. From the amused smile her words garnered, Manuela evidently felt the same.

“Now, now. It’s not charming for a woman to deny her faults. Trust me, I would know.” The older woman let out an aggrieved sigh. “I spent far too much time learning that one. Besides, it’s only natural for the leader of a country to feel a bit strained.”

“...It’s possible I _have_ been burning the candle at both ends.” Edelgard leaned against her desk, arms wrapped tight around her midsection. She averted her gaze to Professor, who was now in the midst of grooming her fur.

“And we are all grateful to you for it. The Empire never rests, after all.” Manuela paused, tone lowering to something low and irritated. “But that nasty business is Erde...I think anyone would break after that.”

“I presume Dorothea told you everything that happened.” The Emperor prompted, watching the woman’s face. Manuela pursed her lips tight, the faintest of creases appearing around her eyes. It was the only true proof of her age, but she bore it well.

“Men who abuse their faith to excuse their foul deeds...” She twisted her crop in a firm grip. “There is no saving men like that. I don’t blame you for cutting them down, Emperor. Had I been there, I would have done it myself.”

“Yes, their _faith_.” Edelgard felt her jaw tense. The word sat like syrup upon her tongue; heavy and cloying. “A miserable excuse, but it was not what drove them to commit such atrocities. Loathe as I am to admit it.”

“I’m surprised to hear that from you, Your Majesty. No offense meant, of course. So what _would_ you say caused it?” Manuela quirked a brow. She shifted on her feet, anticipating.

“Supposedly they came from Faerghus; a settlement just beyond the border. They had fallen prey to the Western Church, or so they claimed.” Edelgard attempted a nonchalant shrug. The action felt empty. “Their leader was quite emphatic that the Empire was to blame.”

“Nonsense!” Manuela let loose an incredulous chuckle. “The ideas men get in their fool heads. Honestly, Your Majesty, I wouldn’t pay much mind to the rambling of lunatics.”

“They weren’t mad. Far from it.” Edelgard thought of the organized manner in which they worked. Methodical, terrifying, but not crazed. The leader had knelt before her, defeated and pitiful. There had been a dark knowledge in his eyes; a wounded animal caught in a leg trap. She wondered whether he had truly viewed his task as righteous.

“Tell me, Manuela, do you think the burden of their actions should fall on me?”

“Not at all!” The opera singer denied vehemently. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“It was I who forced the Western Church from Nuvelle. I knew they would seek asylum in Faerghus, and anticipated they would clash with the people there. In my arrogance, I did not foresee the lengths to which they would take.” The Emperor bowed her head, suddenly feeling quite young. A child who played at war. “The blood they shed...the misery they inflicted. Should I not feel responsible in some way?”

“You have great reach, Edelgard, I can’t deny it.” Manuela sighed, a long slow exhale. “But you hardly empowered them to act like monsters. They took it upon themselves to become that.”

“I gave them power over others, even if indirectly. I was aware of the Count of Nuvelle’s patronage long before taking the throne. Had I acted sooner, they would not have grown to the size they became.” Professor leaped down from the bed and pawed over to Edelgard’s heel. The cat arched her back, rubbing the length of her body along polished boots. She was strangely attuned to her mood at times, Edelgard found.

“I used their number for my own purpose, and then cast them aside. After the war began, I pushed them into Faerghus where they committed atrocities upon the Central Church. Their victims became vengeful and spread their hatred down into Erde. A cycle of violence that began with me.”

“My...Dorothea was quite right. You _do_ tends towards the maudlin, don’t you?” The former professor huffed in exasperation. Her painted lips were fixed into a grimace.

“Pardon?”

“Before I exited the stage, I had become quite the diva.” Manuela continued, diverting to a non-sequitur. She placed a theatrical hand to her breast. “Fabulously beautiful with a voice like a nightingale...what wasn’t there to love? I knew I had talent, and I abused that to great effect.”

“I don’t see the correlation.” Edelgard stared hard at the other woman, baffled.

“Patience, dear Emperor. Now because of my self-importance, many opera staff found me a bit _difficult_ to work with. The directors were the worst, but I digress. In my last few performances, the critics were quite harsh. They called the acting stale, criticized my singing, and all manner of other things I don’t care to repeat.” Her fingers fluttered in the air. An irked pout graced her face.

“I was incensed! How dare they ridicule my hard work? In my fury, I blamed the director for this travesty. It was on his head whether the opera would fail. He hired the incompetent staff, prepared the boring script, etcetera...” Then Manuela’s expression cleared, something sober steeling her gaze. “But the truth was _I_ was at fault. I fumbled the aria, forgot a few lines; even drank through a whole bottle of wine on the eve of each show. It was no wonder the critics called it shoddy.”

“I would hardly consider the circumstances the same.” The Emperor replied frankly.

“No? I was an individual who caused great trouble on my own, at the unknowing behest of a person who held authority over me.” Manuela flipped back the stray locks of her bob. She smiled, a smug certainty that would have been garish on anyone less confident. The woman could be childish, but every now and then she betrayed her years. “The point is, my dear, that you cannot bear the weight of everyone you meet. Good, or bad, they must be held accountable for their own actions.”

“I can’t refute your logic.” Edelgard swallowed hard, but felt her mind ease ever so slightly. “You know, Manuela, I think Byleth once tried to tell me that too.”

“Did she now? That doesn’t surprise me. She was always smart, that one.” After a long moment, Manuela tapped the lid of the jar. Her brown eyes held pointed intensity. “Now don’t forget to use this. Massage it around the forehead daily, at least twice and no less. We can’t have our stalwart Emperor collapsing from a migraine, now can we?”

“I won’t forget, Manuela. Thank you again.”

As the woman exited her room, it struck Edelgard that her headache had eased. She put a finger to her temple, experiencing none of the throbbing that she had awoken with. Stress was it? Maybe so. She sat back on her bed and glanced to where Professor had ensconced herself. The cat looked unreasonably content, running sharp claws up the wooden leg of her desk.

Truthfully, she was uncertain why Erde had affected her so. Had she the impossible ability to turn back the hands of time, would her actions be different? No, she would not change a thing. The Emperor had not regretted any action taken thus far, Church or otherwise. She still didn’t, even knowing the cost at hand. They were here in this moment of time because of the measures she had taken. To feel remorse now in the wake of all this death, would only mock those who had believed in her. Theirs was a path forged with blood, yes, and that would continue to be true for years to come. Until her destiny had been achieved, she could not trouble herself over the hypothetical.

Yet…

She thought of the dead boy with the familiar face; a painful reminder of things long buried. She remembered Dimitri, burning with hatred, who raged at her like the base creature he had become.

_Byleth stood, gleaming sword poised over silver hair. Then the woman turned and pointed her blade _ _at Rhea; a betrayal of divine judgment. Mortal opposing monster; their faces a twisted mirror. Devotion _ _had_ _ surged like a storm _ _inside her__, the culmination of lingering looks and soft conversation__s__. _ _Her heart sang, _ _and love bloomed. _ _A red rose _ _basking in_ _ the light of day._

_And __then it came;__ the end. Painful and sudden. T__he light she had found smothered to nothing. __Brought to fruition by_ _Rhea’s __hand__, and her own rash foolishness. _

Edelgard leaned back, allowing her hair to fan out over the pillow. The bed was soft, and still warm with the heat of her body. Professor, grown weary of destroying furniture, hopped up to join her. The cat nuzzled its way atop her chest, a comforting weight. She closed her eyes before pressing her face into cloth. For a moment, Edelgard thought she could feel the soothing press of hands around her waist; embracing.

Maybe she would dream of her again.

* * *

“Do you think we should do something a little different this year?”

Dorothea had her fingers curled around a piece of string, courtesy of Bernadetta. The songstress hovered it in the air, before moving it close to Professor’s face. The cat blinked slowly. Glossy fur bristled, and then the feline flung her paws forward. The string quickly dodged, and whiskers twitched.

“What do you mean?” Edelgard asked, glancing up from the map of Fόdlan. They were seated in the war room, gathered around the massive table. While the Emperor had been occupied with devising strategy, Dorothea seemed content playing with the cat. Edelgard hardly minded the company, but she did wish the woman wouldn’t distract her. A war council had been called not too long ago, and the rest of the Eagles were due to arrive soon.

“For the anniversary.” Dorothea met her gaze, expression pensive. “It’s coming up in a few months. I was thinking we should change things up a little.”

“Have you finally grown tired of hearing your own voice?” Edelgard remarked with faux reproach. She placed a carved game piece upon the Myrddin, and another at Remire. They sparkled, Adrestian glass in the shape of red wings; Byleth’s gift from all those years ago.

“Too funny, Edie.” Dorothea sniffed, but her mouth tilted with hidden amusement. “It just occurred to me that we might want to do, well, _more_. The Service to the Fallen is lovely, but we never do anything else. Shouldn’t we thank the living as well?”

“You’ve betrayed your intentions, Dorothea. I’m starting to think this is just an excuse to throw a party.”

“There might be a little of that, yes. But I do think it would help morale a bit.” The songstress balled the string before offering it to Professor. The cat glared at it warily before batting it with her paw. Watching this, Edelgard mused on what the other woman said.

“I was unaware our troops needed a morale boost,” She relayed at last. “The last few scrapes with Faerghus have ended in resounding victory.”

“Maybe on a military front, but they’re not just pieces on a board.” Dorothea’s eyes moved meaningfully to the map. “They need to rest every now and then. Enjoy life. Perhaps we can’t do it too often, but a yearly celebration wouldn’t hurt.”

“You make a fine point.” Edelgard reached up to push a lock of hair behind her ear, only to still. She had taken to wearing her hair up the past few days, and found herself forgetting that often. Seeing her reflection was an odd affair. She did not quite recognize the stranger who looked back; simultaneously familiar and alien all at once. Dorothea’s satisfied hum garnered her attention.

“Of course. Now what do you think we should do?”

“Dorothea is making plans? Now I got to hear this.” Sylvain, broad-shouldered and cocksure, swaggered into the room. Professor startled, fleeing underneath Edelgard’s chair. The animal wasn’t fond of men, they had found. Though it could have just been the man in question. Ingrid trailed behind him, eyes rolling.

“Try not to be a pest, Sylvain. I’ll have you know, it was by the grace of Dorothea that I wasn’t married off to some noble upstart.”

“Hey now, I don’t think she minds. Right Dorothea?” The man grinned broadly, russet eyes playful. Wild tawny locks of hair fell into his face. The songstress did not look particularly impressed.

“What was that? I think I might have heard the squeaking of a rodent.” Dorothea cupped her ear before turning to the Emperor. “Did you hear it, Edie? It sounded so faint...dreadfully _insignificant, _in fact.”

“Ouch.” Sylvain laughed, scratching his jaw.

“A well deserved jest,” Ingrid chuckled, and took the seat to Dorothea’s left. She met the Emperor’s gaze with a nod. “I hope we didn’t interrupt anything, Your Majesty.”

“Not at all. Dorothea was merely making plans for a celebration.” Edelgard explained to them.

“Really? I can’t imagine what for.” Sylvain sat across from his childhood friend, table thumping as he kicked up his heels. Mud flaked off from the sole, but Edelgard refrained from scolding him. She wasn’t in the mood for petty arguments. He continued on, arms folded, “We don’t celebrate the Saint days anymore, right?”

“No, but we hardly need to abide by tradition. We’ve made our own quite splendidly.” Dorothea’s tone managed to be both proud and scolding. Sylvain’s brows arched, but he said nothing in return. Instead, Ingrid favored the songstress with an even smile.

“So then what are we celebrating?” The blonde woman prodded. Dorothea brightened, verdant gaze bright.

“I’m glad you asked, my fair Ingrid. The answer is the gift of life itself.”

“In other words,” Edelgard elaborated at their puzzled expressions. “We are honoring the survivors who have stayed with us this far. Those who have weathered the years by our side, and still continue to serve.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sylvain shrugged, armor creaking as he did so. Across from him, Ingrid stared thoughtfully.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, but when should we have it? And how will we find the time?”

“We’ll make time,” Dorothea stated firmly. “We must. As for when, I was thinking the week after the Service to the Fallen. We can allow the dead to be mourned, and then praise the living in the same month.”

“I suppose feasts do lift people’s spirits.” Ingrid it mulled over, considering. She paused, as if something just occurred to her. “There _will_ be feast. Right?”

“As grand as you can imagine, my darling Ingrid.” Dorothea looked pointedly to the Emperor. “Edie?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Edelgard feigned a sigh. Still, her lips pulled into a traitorous smile. It felt sweet on her lips. Professor crawled out from hiding, keeping her body pressed to the Emperor’s legs. “Until then, let’s focus on the war at hand. Shall we?”

* * *

Months passed languidly as the Empire continued to wage war to the north, and sought to push its influence east. Faerghus, having recovered in entirety from the defeat at Garreg Mach, became more aggressive in their approach. Imperial forts along the border were raided and set aflame, as were many surrounding townships caught in the turmoil. Retaliations were plentiful, and the Emperor was not willing to cede any territory over to the Lion.

The acting Lord of Charon had begun his subterfuge. Soon, the fighting would dwindle as the Kingdom’s supply of ore was forced into scarcity. It would take time, but the Emperor was patient. Once the time to capture Fhirdiad came, she would be ready. Dimitri was skilled, but in a war of attrition it was doubtful he could adapt.

Leicester, however, had not ceased being a thorn in her side. The Roundtable of Noble Houses ignored her invitations to negotiate. Their will was held in the strangle hold of House Riegan and it was clear they would not relieve their influence. Scouts and messengers sent to parley, often did not come back. Imperial soldiers, disguised as merchant caravans, were pushed from each region by the Alliance; encounters ending violently and others not. Even House Ordelia, of whom had expressed prior allegiance, was insufferably quiet.

It seemed that Claude von Riegan was watching them carefully, and would not allow the spread of the Empire’s reach. Passages such as the Great Bridge of Myrddin became blockades of steel, and the black tide of Imperial forces were met by Riegan gold. If the Emperor wanted control of Alliance lands, she would need to carve a path to Derdriu and strike Claude from the seat of the Sovereign Duke.

But to do so required careful planning, and time. More time than she might have if Dimitri or Rhea decide to mount an attack. The likelihood of which, was only growing by the day. It was not like the Archbishop, to remain so placid. Edelgard expected a force would descend from the Ohgma Mountains en-mass, perhaps accompanied by Kingdom blue standard. Yet the Central Church was silent. It was suspect and caused the Emperor to watch the north with unease.

For the first time, the Black Eagles found themselves away from the monastery grounds on the day of Garreg Mach’s capture. Both the annual service and the prepared feast had been delayed, but they would not have time to mourn the lost opportunity. Other things had been set in motion; the covert machinations of a distant foe.

What was meant to be a trip to secure the border of Remire, would soon devolve into a battle for survival.

**Next Chapter: The Year of Faith and Reunions**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Pay no attention to the cat behind the curtain! (peeks) Oh you're still here, well color me surprised! I know, I know...I'm very mean. But I wanted to explore these themes since I started. The eagle-eyed reader may have noticed I changed the preview chapter title, mostly because 'Faith' plays an arguably bigger role for the next one and 'Causality' fits better. Please bear with me as I attempt to explain (REALLY hope I don't come across as pretentious). So first off, if you recognize the story El tells you're not crazy. That is indeed the tale of Celestine from SH: Shattered memories. All I did was edit it a bit to serve my own ends. It also fit very nicely with how I personally view the characters. To Edelgard, the King (society/god/law) is responsible in every situation. It's why she takes what happened so personally. We can see that in canon with her grief against the church and nobility/crests. El, in my humble opinion, also believes in absolute causality. IE: If object hits something object moves proportionally to the hit. For her that also applies to people. IE: If I slap you, I will expect to get slapped back. But Byleth/Manuela posit that the argument breaks down because of free will. IE: If I slap you, you don't hit back (or call the police).  
Maybe I'm nuts, but I hope you guys understood what I was going for. Now you might be wondering...why mention Rhea in this chapter? Really, I just wanted to remind the reader that she also abides by causality. Now I'm just going to say I don't hate Rhea. I'm just massively disappointed in her. SPOILERS: What happened to her was tragic yes, but she is responsible for everything that happened after that. Creating a broken caste system which actively oppresses everyone within it, not exactly a great decision. Nemesis and peeps did the action, but she did not have to run over Fodlan with her mad quest to bring back Sothis. Eh that's just how I view it, no offense to people who love her. END SPOILERS  
The Felix scene might be odd, but I really wanted them to have a conversation. Plus, it's sort of sweet that he tries to make her feel better (sort of) in his own aggressive way. He just doesn't get the real reason she's upset. But how about that Byleth scene, yay or nay? How about the scene with El and the church? (ngl, I was super tempted to have her pull a Frollo/Farnese, but it wouldn't quite work with the theme) I would love to hear your thoughts! A lot happened this chapter, and we still got the last year to go plus an epilogue. The next one will be obscenely long so expect at least a week of silence.  
Thank you for all the lovely reviews! See ya next time!! - AdraCat


	6. The Year of Faith and Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly five years have passed since the war began. Old faces, ally and foe, make their appearance once more.  
A long journey ends, but another may yet be in the making.
> 
> Also Known as: Edelgard attends a party and tells a story. She might be a little less sad for once. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! - This chapter contains liberal use of schmaltz. Read at your own discretion.

**Chapter 5 – The Year of Faith and Reunions**

In the long years since the tragic happenings that took place in Remire, the village had slowly regained its footing. Trees, dead and blackened, still bore the proof of the tumult; but homesteads and farmland had recovered admirably. The landscape was no longer the scorched chaos from memory, yet the Black Eagles still tread with light steps. Villagers, wary and uncertain, eyed them from afar. The Emperor watched as a mother swept her child from the road as they passed. It would seem strangers were unwelcome here, and for good reason. The blood that had been spilt on this land was far from forgotten.

A league from the village, a border fort lay. It’s towers were sturdy obelisks of oak, and a great wall of posts stretched deep into the Remire forest. Across the border line, fortified barricades marked the land in even rows. The commander of the fort, an older gentlemen with a pointed beard, greeted the Emperor as they arrived. He had been amiable enough, eager to serve his Emperor with gusto. As he led them around the fort, many of the soldiers appeared to feel the same.

They stared at the Emperor with polite awe, and many eyed the Eagles with the same reverence. Children though they may be in comparison, they held the future of the Empire within their hands. Edelgard knew she was popular with the military, something her father had failed to achieve, however most of the common folk were still undecided. They were leery of her beliefs, and her secular nature had proved divisive. She was well aware of the criticism. Loyalty was earned, in time, and she was ready to prove herself worthy of it.

The commander had much to say about the situation in Remire. Kingdom raids upon the border were often, as were bandits who had taken advantage of the fighting on both sides. Food stores had grown thin as well, a fire in the grain house taking much of the supply. Suffice to say morale was low, and the soldiers were dwindling in strength. The commander himself looked haggard. Dark bruises ringed the sockets of his eyes. He was noticeably weary as they ventured past the fort. They stopped near the northern edge.

“Brigands have been spotted here recently.” The man pointed to the cresting hillside, where a road could just be seen. “They’re attacking Imperial caravans who travel past the border on both ends. I believe they’re camping out in an abandoned ruin, but since it’s located in the Kingdom my men have been unable to rout them.”

“A dire concern. It would seem a more covert force may be needed in this instance. I would hardly entrust the matter to be dealt with by Faerghus.” Edelgard turned to face the commander, hand resting lightly upon her axe. “I shall send some soldiers to deal with the matter. Hopefully, these pests will be rooted out before the Kingdom gets wind of their presence.”

“The people of Remire will be most grateful, Your Majesty.” A tangible look of relief rested upon his weathered features. “It’s been hard, and Count Bergliez has yet to answer our call for relief.”

“Remire is a valuable border holding. It would be foolish not to keep it maintained,” Edelgard said, waving off his gratitude. Her eyes strayed to the far road. “It would be best if we solved this crisis soon. Do you have their measure?”

“Around thirty armed souls at least. It’s strange, they’re not reacting like any bandits I’ve ever faced. They seem too organized for that.” The commander exhaled through his nose like an irritated bull. “They’ve raided a few of our caches, so you can anticipate––”

An arrow head pierced through his throat. The man collapsed to his knees, blood spurting from the gash. Edelgard stilled, heart leaping.

“Get down!” Caspar yelled out, grabbing the stunned Emperor. He forced them to take cover among the brush, shield raised over both of their heads. An arrow whistled past her ear, a song of death. Edelgard drew her axe and collected herself. Her mind raced desperately. _An ambush in Remire? _It was not out of the realm of possibility, but she had not anticipated dealing with bandits so abruptly. A foolish assumption, considering the vultures of war. She clenched her weapon tight. It hardly mattered now. They would be routed soon enough.

Edelgard forced her mind to calm, and she took stock of her position. The visit to Remire was meant to be perfunctory; a quick reconnaissance at the northern border. Hubert had advised against her leaving the monastery, but she had foolishly insisted. Remire was a short distance away, she had argued, and it would be a small matter to check on the border. Hubert had merely scowled in displeasure, but eventually relented. The Emperor would not decry his keen instincts again. Unfortunately, most of the Strike Force had stayed in Garreg Mach. The only ones present on this journey were Caspar and Leonie, and the other woman was currently preoccupied scouting the lands west of the fort. The situation at hand was far from ideal.

“The hell…?” She heard Caspar whisper at her side. The man’s fists, bladed and ready, trembled. His gaze was focused over the foliage, eyes wide.

“What’s happening?” Edelgard pressed, pulse thrumming. “What do you see?”

Caspar would not get the chance to answer. The hail of arrows slowed to a standstill, and a woman’s voice came from beyond the forest shade.

“Hey, Edelgard!” The woman drew her name out, tone syrupy sweet with underlying menace. “Come out won’t you? Face your end with dignity!”

The Emperor scowled darkly. She would recognize that cocky voice anywhere. Catherine. Rhea’s loyal lapdog. So it would seem their foe was not bandits, after all. How _bothersome_. At her side, Caspar swallowed. Sweat was beading upon her general’s brow.

“Rhea sent Thunder Catherine after us.” His voice had grown painfully tight, a mere whisper to the ear. The man turned to face her, panic easily gleaned from his expression. “Oh man...I would be honored if I wasn’t so scared.”

“Do try to calm yourself, Caspar.” She hissed out, displeased. His hero worship was far from appreciated. “You are my General. Now act like it.”

“Uh..yeah. Sorry!” Caspar took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. “Okay. I think we can make a break for it. Our men are waiting for us in the fort, so we just have to get to the horses.”

“That’s assuming the church archers don’t cut us down in the midst of our escape.” Edelgard chanced a look through the brush. She could just make out the fair head of Catherine in the distance. Thunderbrand was slung over her shoulder, the blade emanating a forbidding red glow. A tide of silver was at her back; Knights of Seiros in full regalia. Most of them were mounted, and all held bows of steel within their hands. Should they try to face them directly, it would be a slaughter. Yet if they ran…

She flicked her eyes to where they had left their mounts. The distance was over a hundred paces, at least, and through a sparse copse of trees. The Knights had a clear line of sight, and even if they made it...could they outrun them? The horses the commander prepared for them were hardy, but they were made for field work rather than speed. Catherine and her band would have little trouble running them down. And even if they were under orders to capture her, not kill, Caspar’s fate would not be the same. Frustration increased as desperation loomed.

This was not the end. It couldn’t be. Not after everything she had accomplished. Not when so many had died in her name, and sacrificed so much. So where was the solution? What loophole had destiny granted her? She folded a hand over her mouth. _Byleth...what should I do?_

“Edelgard, you coward! Come and fight!” Catherine goaded, raising her voice over the howling wind. “Or have you grown fat off the blood of the church?”

Edelgard pursed her lips. She stood, clasping her axe in an iron grip. Caspar stared at her incredulously. She glared at him; determined and firm.

“Go.” She husked, keeping the words low. “Find Leonie, and ride back to Garreg Mach.”

“_What?_”

“Do as I say, Caspar.” Edelgard stared into his eyes, uncertain if it would be the last. “Gather the Eagles and come up with a plan. They will not kill me, not yet. Rhea will want my death to be a public spectacle. Until then, I’ll be held captive in Fhirdiad.”

“But...Edelgard––”

“Trust me. Please.” She cut her eyes from him, voice strained; pleading. He was silent for a moment. Then he sighed raggedly.

“As you will, Your Majesty.”

“Good man.” The Emperor left him there, careful not to look back at him. She forced her breathing to remain even. Hopefully, her trust would be rightly rewarded. It would take time, and her stay in the Kingdom was not going to be pleasant, but she was convinced they would free her. Hers was a path that was guided by fate. Chosen by something greater than even a Goddess. She refused to be cut down by anything lesser. Yet even as she told herself that, unease trickled down her spine; a merciless chill. Edelgard broke free from the forest and stepped into sunlight.

Catherine’s head was cocked to the side. Thunderbrand rested by her temple. The woman’s frame was impressive as ever, and she held herself with confident ease. As Edelgard walked closer, Catherine smiled; wolfish and smug. The Emperor kept a veneer of calm, even as her thoughts spun. Finally, she stopped several paces away from the Knight. Her axe hung limply in her fingers.

“Oho!” Catherine raised her chin, free hand resting on her hip. She arched a fair brow, appearing faintly surprised. “So you’ve decided to give yourself up after all. A shame. I was expecting more of a fight, honestly.”

“I’m not a fool. To force blades at this moment would mean my death.” Edelgard stared at her evenly. “I have no intention of dying here. Nor by your hand.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed.

“That right? And what makes you think I _won’t_ kill you.”

“I am not unaware of Rhea’s thirst for my blood. Rumor has it, she wants to spill it herself.” Edelgard straightened, boldly wearing the crown she had reforged; a dragon to match a dragon. She would not fall before The Immaculate One took its last breath. That promise had already been brokered. “King Dimitri has already failed to kill me once. She will not chance my demise on anyone else.”

“You’re a sharp one,” Catherine chuckled. Her smile was edged with black humor. Thunderbrand flexed in her grip. “It’s true, I can’t deny it. She wants to watch your body burn in the divine fire of the Goddess. A grisly end, but when you want to cook a bird...you have to clip the wings.”

“So you’re aware of her madness.” Edelgard clenched her axe, teeth grit. Catherine did not seem concerned. The woman’s armored shoulders rolled carelessly.

“Wanting an enemy dead doesn’t sound mad to me, but maybe that’s just my perspective. You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble for Lady Rhea. I don’t blame her for wanting to see you fry.”

“And what of the faithful she goaded?” The Emperor felt her temper flare as the massacre of Erde came to mind. “Does your conscience remain staid in the wake of their calamity? Or is the blood of innocents lost upon the great Thunder Catherine?”

“A brat like you has no concept of duty.” Catherine’s eyes were cold, as iced as the hue they bore.

“Does duty require you to attack innocents who have done nothing? To raid the border like common thieves?”

The Knight laughed, sharp and high.

“Lady Rhea has granted us permission to act as we wish. Besides, it got your attention didn’t it? Honestly, I expected to cut down an Eagle or two; but here she is! The mama Eagle herself. You really made this too easy, Edelgard.”

“You’ve fallen far, Catherine. Rhea will lead all of you to your demise. Can you not think for yourself?” The Emperor demanded, incensed. Catherine fell into silence. Her mouth formed into a mirthless grin.

“I am her sword and shield. An implement of war. A sword does not think; it obeys.”

“Your loyalty blinds you.”

“What a coincidence, so does your arrogance.” Catherine’s tone changed into something dark, heavy with promise. Thunderbrand ignited, bursting with scarlet sparks. She brought it before her, and pointed it in Edelgard’s direction. “Get on your knees and beg for the Goddess’ mercy. Do that, and I may get you to Fhirdiad in one piece.”

“You would maim me?” Edelgard glared at her, defiant. “You’re quite petty for a holy Knight.”

“I’m just evening the score, after all...” Catherine scowled, all prior levity draining from her. Her voice became steel. “You took something from me. Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Remind me. I take so much from so many people.” Edelgard struggled not to flinch as the burning heat of a relic was pressed to her neck. Rage blazed in Catherine’s eyes.

“Lord Charon….I know that had been your doing.” Sorrow replaced the anger briefly. Then it vanished underneath wroth once more. “One of your pretty little Eagles was seen riding away from the ravine that day. Admit it, _Emperor._ Admit to the crime of murdering my family.”

“I didn’t kill them.” Edelgard blinked slowly, holding the woman’s glower. Something appeared at her periphery, stealing her attention. A stampeding mass of horse and men. Then she smiled, with all the vicious spite Thales had imparted her with. “The carriage did.”

Catherine snarled, red painted across her cheeks.

“You conceited little––”

An arrow, sweet reprisal, embedded itself deep within Catherine’s shoulder. The woman stumbled back, clutching the wound. Her Knights were stunned as a flood of men rode down the hillside. They were fast and deadly, loosing arrow and javelin to rain upon their silver prey. A man lead the charge, garbed in a dark cloak. His men broke through the line of Knights, lances piercing; swords cleaving. Edelgard took the opportunity to swing her axe at Catherine’s side. The woman rolled back and brandished her blade. All around them chaos reigned in spectacular glory. Yet another denial of the Goddess’ will. Proof of the destiny she bore.

Catherine slid into a cautious stance, clearly favoring her injured arm. A harsh grimace stained her sun-bleached features. Edelgard held her axe out, gesturing as the woman did just moments ago.

“Face me, Thunder Catherine. Grant me the judgment I should rightly be served.”

At her back, the mysterious regiment pressed onward. Their number was superior, and the Knights were beginning to fall back into the thrush. She heard the clang of steel, and the screams of wounded men. To her, it was the sound of triumph. Catherine’s expression blackened, her hatred a nearly tangible thing. The woman took a step forward, sword raised, only to stop as another arrow embedded at her feet. Her stare faltered. Then, a dark resignation stole across her face.

“You’ll be granted death soon, Edelgard. Mark these words.” Catherine unhorsed a passing archer, stealing his mount out from under him. She sheathed Thunderbrand reluctantly, eyes blazing. “Lady Rhea will have her due.”

“Flee to your master, Catherine. And tell her I grow weary of chatting with her pets.” Edelgard lowered her axe and heard the allied cavalry trot up to her side. They stayed and faced down the other woman, their weapons gleaming in the sun. “Next time we meet, I’ll steal everything she holds dear. I promise you that.”

Loathing dripped from her foe, but Catherine had nothing more to say. She sped off into the trees, the gleam of her relic disappearing slowly into the abyss. Despite herself, Edelgard breathed out a sigh of relief. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her rib cage. She turned around to face the foreign battalion. They were not familiar to her, and did not tout any banner of allegiance, yet they had helped her against the Knights of Seiros. Such service needed to be rewarded properly.

Their leader, a rather tall and heavy-set fellow, leapt down from his steed. His face was obscured by a hood. Edelgard walked up to him and offered a nod of thanks.

“You have the gratitude of the Empire, good sir. Had you not appeared I would have certainly been spirited off to Fhirdiad.” She paused, feeling a brief flicker of ire. Catherine would not have been kind. “And perhaps maimed as well. Please, might I have the name of my savior?”

“...You mean you don’t recognize me?” Strangely he sounded a bit affronted. His voice was a thunderous baritone, which was vaguely familiar. Yet she could not quite determine where she had heard it before. Edelgard frowned, not in the mood to play games.

“I could better place you, if you remove your hood.”

“Ah!” The man’s tone brightened, his large frame straightening. “Of course! Sorry about that.”

The hood was flung back, and an unexpected face was revealed. Edelgard blinked, momentarily stunned speechless. Alois looked at her, grinning broadly. His hands rested firmly on his waist, chest proudly extended.

“Good to see you, Your Majesty! How have you been?”

* * *

“...And there I was, fishing for my dinner, when I spotted a group of Knights tromping through the hillside.” Alois, bombastic as ever, proudly recounted his tale to a rapt audience. The man had amassed quite the gathering and they surrounded his seated form, attention snared. Edelgard forced away her exasperation. The man’s theatrics were well deserved considering the circumstance. In the aftermath of the battle, Alois and his men, who she had learned were mercenaries, had brought her to the Remire fort as fast as they could manage.

Thankfully, Caspar and Leonie had not departed yet for Garreg Mach. They were, however, nearly in hysterics upon her return. Her general was inconsolable in particular, and wrapped her in a hug so fierce it lifted her off the ground. His eyes were watery, but she decided not to draw attention to it. Leonie was much the same, and sniffed discreetly into her leather gloves. The Emperor was heartened by the reaction, if a bit abashed. Once they noticed her new companion, Alois was quick to steal their attention; though it was hardly his fault. Among the two, Leonie’s reaction had been the most excited. The woman had nearly bowled Alois over, demanding to know where he had been the past few years. It was a fair question.

The man was strangely quiet on the subject, merely saying he decided to travel around Fόdlan. After living the bulk of his life in service to the church, Alois began explaining, he wanted to spread his wings a bit. The excuse was not quite convincing, at least to Edelgard, but her Eagles seemed to believe him. So it was that they demanded to know what had happened with Catherine. Alois was quick to oblige.

“Then I spotted her...Thunder Catherine!” The big man clapped his hand dramatically. The surrounding soldiers drew back, their eyes bulging. “Her hair whipped around her face, Thunderbrand glowing on her back, and her eyes were filled with the blackest rage. I knew then, the Knights of Seiros were up to something dastardly! So I, the sly Alois, took it upon myself to investigate.”

He puffed out his chest.

“I sneaked to the border where I spotted a group down below, but it wasn’t the Knights. No, sir! When I saw that golden crown, that crimson armor...I knew it could only be Her Majesty! So I ran back to my men, and rode them hard and fast to the Emperor’s aid. Sadly, I was too slow and Catherine had already encroached!” Alois stood and brandished an invisible sword. He pretended to wave it theatrically around his head. “’Beg for your life, Edelgard’, I heard Catherine shout. But the Emperor just looked at her and said, ‘No. _You_.’”

“An embellishment.” Edelgard rolled her eyes, but graced him with an amused smile. “Pay no attention to him.”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty...” Caspar interjected, grinning like a fool. “Sounds pretty convincing to me!”

“It _does_ sound like something you’d say.” Leonie piped up. She rubbed her nose with her thumb, eyes bright. Edelgard shook her head, but allowed the comment. It wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Ahem.” Alois shot a censuring glance their way. “As I was saying, Catherine was trying to get her to surrender. But the Emperor refused to bow. That’s when I made my move! My men and I thundered down the hill, loosing our arrows right at Catherine’s feet.” He paused, gaze expectant. “Get it? Thundered? We thundered down to Thunder––”

“I believe they understand the gist.” Edelgard sobered, clearing her throat. “No matter the specifics, it is undeniable that I owe you a great debt. Your heroics will not be in vain, I assure you.”

“Well, I mean...” Alois appeared suddenly chagrined. His eyes roved over the curious Remire soldiers. “Perhaps we can speak in private? Just for a moment.”

“Of course.” The Emperor watched him, more than a little curious. While it was clear he had remained separated from the Knights of Seiros, his intentions were still a mystery. But he had done her a great service, one she would be remiss if she did not acknowledge it. She nodded to the commander’s tent, woefully empty now that the man had met his demise. The poor man would be yet another name mentioned in the coming service, another casualty in the Church’s name. Edelgard would need to establish a new commander in Remire before they could leave.

“Let’s talk in there. Everyone else, as you were.”

At her firm words, the soldiers scattered. Only Caspar and Leonie stayed, waiting for her order. Edelgard shook her head at them. The talk with Alois needed to be conducted alone. They looked at each other before bowing obediently. Then the both of them disappeared, attending to their own separate duties. The Emperor beckoned for Alois to follow, and they soon found themselves alone in a sparse tent. The man’s face was oddly drawn, something she had not expected from his earlier antics.

“Ha...finally quiet.” Alois chuckled. It sounded limp; hollow. He smiled, and Edelgard was acutely aware that the man had changed since she saw him last. His face appeared distinctly aged, eyes lined with more wrinkles than she recalled. The once carefully groomed sweep of his mustache had been replaced with a stubbly goatee. It looked wrong on him somehow. “I didn’t used to appreciate silence. I think I know why Jeralt loved it so much now. People...sometimes they just drain you.”

“I suppose you would know, now that you lead a mercenary company.” Edelgard watched for his reaction. She wasn’t disappointed. He rubbed his neck, air escaping from his lips in a slow exhale.

“They’re not mine, exactly. They were Jeralt’s. Ended up tagging along when...” Alois trailed off, distracted. “Ah, well, you remember what happened back then.”

“Most of the Eagles wondered what happened to you. I had always assumed you either joined back up with Rhea, or went home to your family.”

“I did. The latter, that is; but I made someone a promise and I wanted to keep it.” He smiled fondly, likely thinking of his wife and daughter. “As for Rhea...I couldn’t return to that life. Didn’t want to either. You see one malevolent dragon and suddenly you reconsider your life choices pretty fast!”

“I can see that. Still, it makes me curious why you decided to go traipsing with Jeralt’s mercenary group.” Edelgard eyed him, arms folded. Another chuckle came from his throat.

“I suppose you won’t believe it was just to travel, will you?”

“You’re an odd fellow, Alois, but you’ve never struck me as particularly flighty.” Her gaze was level as she stared at him. “You’re a man of conviction. It’s why I believed you would go back to Rhea’s side if you didn’t remain with us.”

“Well, it’s not that I wanted to leave, or that I didn’t believe in your cause...” Alois frowned, the gesture all the more dramatic with his broad features. “As I said, I made a promise. To Jeralt’s daughter, in fact.”

“To the Professor…?” Edelgard stilled, caught off guard. She felt herself tense at the mention. “What exactly did you promise?”

“The specifics don’t matter really.” Alois straightened his posture, and placed a hand to his breastplate. “All that matters is that I find her! So I dedicated the past four years to searching every nook and cranny of Fόdlan. Not an easy feat, let me tell you.”

“Alois...” Truthfully, the Emperor did not know what to say. A part of her felt joy, happy that another person had cared so deeply for Byleth. Yet the rest of her only felt melancholy. The man had been there, just as she did. That distant day at Garreg Mach. _Her hair had shown emerald in the dying __sunlight__. That unflinching stride; __steady and __powerful__. Then she had been stolen by shadow, never to be seen again._ Edelgard swallowed thickly. “Byleth...she isn’t...”

“Some of my men have told me that too,” Alois revealed, nodding. A steely determination was seen in his eyes then; unwilling to be dissuaded. “But I refuse to fall into that trap! The daughter of Jeralt the Blade Breaker would never be felled so easily. Eisner’s are made of sterner stuff than that. You see, Your Majesty, I know in my gut she’s alive. It’s never been wrong before and I don’t think it is now!”

“I admire your resolve. But...”

“Resolve? Maybe, but I prefer to think of it as something else.”

“Which would be?” Edelgard asked, voice quiet. Alois grinned; steadfast and certain.

“Faith.”

Ah. Perhaps that was it then. The one thing she had always lacked. She looked at his face, but could not find it within herself to scold him. After all these years, Edelgard wondered, had she truly let go of the other woman? Or was the image within her heart the same as ever, still burning with hope tested in fire?

She thought of her dreams, a restless collage of memory and fondest wishes unspoken. She recalled the time spent mourning, rationalizing the events to soothe her troubled thoughts. She reflected on the pain, forever unending, and the love that refused to die. All of it brought on, at first, by denial; and then softened by her own logical reasoning. But if she had truly meant it, why had she been unable to move on? What was this blossoming feeling in her chest, warding away the cold void that had plagued her for years?

Suddenly, Edelgard knew the answer.

“You know, Alois, for once...” She pressed a hand to her breast. Her pulse was beating fast; racing. “I would like to believe in something greater than myself.”

“Oh?”

She smiled tremulously, just at the edge of tears.

“Faith, is it? How wonderfully absurd.”

* * *

When they returned to Garreg Mach, her Strike Force crowded the wayward Knight. They embraced him heartily, and welcomed them back among their number. Even the timid Bernadetta wrapped the man in a fierce grasp. Alois enjoyed the attention, ever the showman, and took great pride in recounting the events in Remire. His retelling was even more outrageous than the last, doubling the number of Church Knights and vastly exaggerating the encounter with Catherine.

To hear Alois tell it, Edelgard had held her own against Catherine and her band for nearly a day before he arrived on the scene. Then her and the other woman had engaged in a cataclysmic duel, her plain axe holding its own against Thunderbrand itself. It was ridiculous, and blatantly false, but from the dewy looks upon the faces of his audience she knew they would not listen to her correction. And so the third Battle of Remire became a lauded story of human will and Imperial triumph, all at the hands of one grandiloquent Knight.

A month passed in a blink, and Alois settled into life at the monastery easily enough. He held no intention of joining her forces formally, but offered the services of his mercenary company instead. It was a fair offer, and enough to secure him a place permanently at Garreg Mach. He would stay for a time, the Knight insisted, but then he would set off once more; in pursuit of finding the lost Eisner. The Emperor could only nod. In her private moments, far from the grim reality she had forced herself to embrace, she wished him good fortune in his search. Belief, she was finding, was a strange thing indeed.

Time continued to pass, ever present and devouring. Dorothea, unwilling to delay the service and subsequent celebration, took it upon herself to plan the events. Manuela and Bernadetta assisted her, and soon the monastery was abuzz with tangible excitement. It had been far too long since they had allowed themselves to decompress, and the recent victory over the Church had been enough to buoy their spirits. The Service to the Fallen came first, however, and the Emperor made certain to make her presence felt. She mentioned the fallen commander of Remire in particular, expressing her condolences to the man’s family. Edelgard had made sure they were compensated justly; a meager consolation in truth, but it was the best she could do for them.

After the traditional songs had been sung, along with a few new ones courtesy of Dorothea, Edelgard concluded the service. She bowed formally before all those in attendance, something she had never done in the years prior. Then she took her leave, crimson cape billowing. Professor, her ever present shadow, followed her to the graveyard. Edelgard stopped at the Eisner’s grave. It was well tended to, and fresh hydrangeas had been placed atop the plot. She had taken to visiting the site regularly, an act her Eagles had been quick to notice. The black cat meowed up at her, seemingly impatient.

“One moment, little Professor.” The Emperor tidied the stone slab, clearing any withered petals. It was strange, she knew, to tend to the grave as she had been. In the wake of her teacher’s disappearance, Edelgard had carefully avoided it. It had been a painful reminder of her negligence, and a part of her thought Jeralt would not appreciate any sentiments she might have to give. Then, after her frank talk with Dorothea, Edelgard had viewed it differently. This place was, after all, the closest thing to the Professor they had left besides her memory. The woman’s family rested here in peace, and in her yearning Edelgard thought that perhaps Byleth did as well. A desperate and silly wish, perhaps. But now…

Edelgard wasn’t a fool. She had always considered herself realistic, unwilling to entertain flights of fancy. There was a high probability this newfound hope of her would go unanswered. Alois had searched for years all to no avail. Yet reason was a cold unemotional thing. Hope was not. It was irrational and unkind, especially to a lonely girl who had never tasted its reward. However, she could not deny that it already existed. Small and weak within her, a seed that had already sprouted roots. Dorothea would likely scold her if she knew, worried that her friend had fallen back into old habits. It didn’t feel that way to her; not really. It felt…

_Solon, eyes burning with sadistic glee, smirked at the__m__ from afar. His smug words imparted a tragic tale. Their Professor, lost to the darkness, never to be seen again. Desolation had crept within her. __T__he woman she __had admired was__ lost. She had to be. Those Who Slithered never made idle claims. Then it happened. The sky tore asunder and the impossible was made real. Byleth, radiant and unyielding, dropped from the tear. Changed, but whole nonetheless. In that moment, __something_ _ignited __within the scorched ashes of her heart. A_ _belief __in the woman before her__ that would __remain__ for years to come._

Alois’ words, whether foolish or not, had reminded of her that same trust. Not in the Goddess, never in her, but where it had always been placed. With Byleth.

She placed her hand upon the stone.

“Thank you, for bringing her to me all those years ago. Even if Alois does not find her...this hope shall remain. Forgive me, but I pray she has not reunited with you yet.”

The air was silent. A few of the blue flowers stirred in the breeze. Edelgard pulled back her hand, and wiped her face. At her heels, Professor curled her body along her feet. She looked down and favored the animal with a fond smile.

“Come now, little Professor. Let’s be off. I’m sure our friends are getting impatient.”

Edelgard turned on her heel and did not look back. The burden on her shoulders felt light; her purpose renewed. From now on, she was determined to keep moving forward; hesitantly placing her faith in something beyond her ken. _Byleth...I trusted you once. And I shall do it again. __Until my last breath, I will continue to __bear this frail hope__._

* * *

Only a week later, a grand celebration was held. The dining hall was whipped into a frenzy, preparing a feast that would be remembered for ages to come. Soldiers traded armor for formal garb, and swords for laughter. The reception hall was frenetically busy, just as it had once been at the ball held so long ago. Soon the preparations bore fruit and men and women of every station mingled within Garreg Mach’s walls. An orchestra, having traveled from the capitol, played a serene piece in the background. All around, people danced and ate their fill, grateful for the life they had been granted.

The Black Eagles stood among them, several took the time to dress for the occasion. Dorothea, true to her nature, assisted her friends in tidying their appearance. As a result, many of the Strike Force women appeared quite different.

Ingrid played idly with the green ribbons Dorothea had placed in her hair. At her side, Sylvain stared at her in bemusement.

“Wow, you look like a new woman! Tell me, Dorothea, what dark magic did you cast to tidy_ this _one up?”

“Are you I implying my lovely Ingrid isn’t always radiant?” Dorothea replied with a quirked brow.

“A shame there isn’t a spell to seal his mouth shut.” Ingrid rolled her eyes good-naturally. It was clear she hadn’t taken offense, though she did shift with minor unease. “Are you certain the ribbons are necessary? They seem a bit...impractical.”

“But that’s half the fun!” The songstress insisted, smiling bright. “Take Bernadetta, for instance. Why, she’s nearly more popular than I.”

“A great feat.” Edelgard cut her eyes to where the shy woman was dancing with Caspar. Her hair had been treated and styled into a popular cut favored by Enbarr nobility. It was hard to tell if it suited her, but the Emperor was sure Dorothea would not appreciate the criticism. Bernadetta was currently stepping on Caspar’s toes, cringing all the while. The general didn’t seem to mind, judging from his raucous laughter. He spun her firmly, multiple times in succession, and the poor woman’s face blanched.

“Caspar seems to be having fun, though he should be careful. I hear a certain swordsman has his eye on her.” Dorothea mused with a giggle.

“Who, Felix?” Sylvain’s brows arched up incredulously. “No, can’t be!”

“And why not? Do you believe him incapable of feeling something for her?”

“We _are_ talking about Felix. You know, broody and emotionally inept? It doesn’t matter how lovely the woman is, they would never be able to compete with his precious training.”

“Oh...is that resentment I sense?” Dorothea grinned smugly. She placed a finger to her chin in mock thought. “My Sylvain, you almost sound like a jilted lover.”

“What?” The man uncharacteristically balked, mouth agape. “No I just...I only meant he’s ignored women before. I assure you, I feel only friendship––”

“You need to stop rising to every bait. She’s only teasing you.” Ingrid sighed, hand falling away from her hair. The man’s expression veered into petulance.

“Yes, yes. Pick on the man. I see how you women are.” Sylvain jerked his thumb behind him, scowling. “I think I’ll go find some _other_ lovely ladies to talk with. If you will excuse me.”

“I think I spotted Felix by the dining hall, that is, if you’re still interested!” Dorothea called after him with a wave. Sylvain snorted before striding away in a huff. Then he disappeared into the milling throng of celebrants. Edelgard, who had been watching with growing amusement, sipped lightly on her wine.

“I find his attitude most curious. Usually, he is quick to shrug off such jibes. Does he truly fancy Felix, I wonder?”

“Hard to say with him, but he was right about one thing.” Ingrid chuckled, mirth dancing in her green gaze. “Felix would be more apt to marry a sword than a living person. Did you really notice him looking at Bernadetta?”

“Maybe. Maybe, not.” Dorothea curled a lock of dark hair around her finger. Her expression was mischievous. “Or perhaps I merely said it to needle Sylvain. Who can say?”

“You’re quite dangerous Dorothea.” The Pegasus Knight quirked a brow, impressed. The songstress merely shrugged and gazed at her painted nails.

“I do try.”

Ingrid chuckled and opened her mouth, but was stopped as a man sidled up to her. He was a tall fellow, with a generous mop of straw colored hair. The man bowed at the waist before holding his hand out to the fair woman.

“Captain Ingrid, your work in the Pegasus Corps has been an inspiration. Might I have this dance?”

“O-Oh no.” Ingrid smiled hesitantly, a light flush blooming upon her cheeks. “I, um, don’t really dance. And I’m not a captain, only a commander––”

“That’s odd.” Edelgard interjected, tone casual. She glanced between the two of them. “I thought I had informed you as to your promotion. My apologies...Captain Ingrid.”

The blonde woman stared at her. Her blush deepened.

“I’m…?”

“For outstanding service to the Empire as well as within my personal Strike Force.” The Emperor took another sip. She smiled pleasantly and raised her glass in salute. “Congratulations.”

“Now you have to dance! A promotion _is_ a grand occasion!” Dorothea insisted, and nudged Ingrid forward. The other woman stumbled into the gentleman’s arms. She appeared stunned, like a hare cornered by a fox. The man was nonplussed and led her smoothly onto the dance floor. Dorothea watched them dreamily.

“Thank you for that ingenious bit of improvisation. Goddess knows that girl needs a bit of romance in her life. They do look quite handsome together, don’t they, Edie?” Suddenly, Dorothea frowned. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen him around the monastery before. Wait, he isn’t a noble of ill repute is he? I’ll not hand my Ingrid over to some flighty philanderer.”

“A noble, yes. Ill repute...debatable.” Edelgard watched them dance, observing Ingrid's stiff movements. It would seem the woman hadn’t been lying about her lack of skill. “Randolph von Bergliez. He was recently stationed here on account of his previous commander’s recommendation.”

“Bergliez? Do you mean he’s related to Caspar?” Dorothea glanced at the waltzing man, curious.

“Indeed. He’s the half-brother to Count Bergliez, making him Caspar’s paternal uncle. The previous Count favored him to succeed the House, but the boy was too young when his father passed. However, Randolph doesn’t appear to be affected by the lack of inheritance. By all accounts, he’s a fine soldier and a good man; or so the rumor mill goes.” Edelgard explained.

“Hmm. Not a dashing rogue here to abscond with our fair Ingrid then?”

“I would imagine not.”

“How dreadfully dull.” Dorothea flashed a puckish grin. “I approve wholeheartedly!”

“I thought you might.” Edelgard hummed, and her gaze strayed to the dancing couples. Some of the soldiers were nobles, though most were part of the common folk. With such an eclectic mix, the dancing involved was a rather scattered affair. It was entertaining, however, especially for someone who had no intention of taking part. The only person she wished to dance with was not here, after all. Suddenly, Dorothea sighed heavily.

“I swear...what is taking her so long? She told me she would be down in a few moments.”

“So the wily and ever popular Dorothea has brought herself a date.” The Emperor bit back a knowing smile. “Petra, I assume?”

“You assume right. Though my dear maiden has yet to sojourn from her quarters,” Dorothea replied in turn, sounding somewhat aggrieved.

“Why Dorothea, you look positively incensed. Has the chase grown cold?” Edelgard stared at her slyly, drinking from her glass.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, Edie. It’s not becoming.” Dorothea sniffed, arms crossing over her chest. Yet despite her words, a worried line creased her brow. “Still, I wonder what’s keeping her.”

“How _are_ things going with the lovely princess?”

The songstress went silent for a moment. Then she smiled, verdant gaze averting to her feet.

“She is...a wonderful friend who I refuse to live without. Maybe in time she’ll come to feel for me the way I do her, but I won’t rush it.”

“A wise mindset.”

“Is it? I wonder if that isn’t just me being a coward.” Dorothea focused her attention upon the dancers. A resigned wistfulness draped across her face. “Maybe I’m not suited to play the hunter. With everyone else, it was always _them_ chasing after me.”

“Such is the way of a beautiful songstress.”

“Careful, Edie. Flatter me too much and I might turn my sights onto you instead.”

The two women quieted as a person cleared their throat from behind them. They turned, and the lean form of Petra was revealed. The women’s hair was free from its braid, and cascaded over dark shoulders in a river of violet. She was not clothed in anything resembling formal wear, preferring ceremonial Brigid armor. Yet the women was undeniably stunning, perhaps _because_ of her vast differences. It would appear Dorothea felt much the same. The songstress looked distinctly poleaxed.

“Your Majesty.” Petra greeted with a bow. Then she turned, her eyes soft as silk. A question lay in that prying gaze. “Dorothea...might I be asking for a dance?”

“Petra...” Dorothea blinked. Color suffused her cheeks. She glanced to the Emperor, appearing both amazed and ecstatic. Edelgard nodded once; a wordless encouragement. The brunette woman collected herself shortly, before offering the foreign royal her hand. It did not escape those present that her fingers were trembling. “Petra, I would be delighted to.”

“Much greatness!” The princess bobbed her head, smile growing wider. Then she took the elated songstress and drew them over to the dance floor. They made a comely pair, with Dorothea’s classical beauty and Petra’s exotic charm. More than a few people stopped to stare at the couple as they whirled across the tiles. Edelgard felt her mouth twist with amusement. To her eye, the both of them looked quite besotted. While Dorothea might not have been a hunter, the Brigid royal certainly was. Perhaps the other woman’s troubles were less egregious than feared.

The Emperor let her gaze wander, observing the rest of her Strike Force. Ferdinand was off in the corner chatting with a stone-faced Hubert. Neither men looked particularly pleased with the conversation, yet they did not stray from each other for whatever reason. A few paces away, Leonie was digging into a leg of venison with great enthusiasm. Lysithea was at her side, doing much the same with a piece of cake. Caspar was still enjoying himself on the floor, though Bernadetta had long since bowed out. The general was in the midst of goading Linhardt into a dance, from the looks of it, but the slighter man appeared more irritated than anything.

Ingrid had departed from Randolph and rejoined Sylvain at some point. The two of them were smiling companionably by the feast table, and watched as Felix turned away a smitten admirer. They laughed, and the surly man glared at them from afar. It took Edelgard a while to spot Bernadetta, but she finally caught the young woman crouching behind a pillar. The Varley heir was busy writing something in a book, her hands a blur. All the while, Petra and Dorothea danced; eyes only for each other.

It was a pristine moment, nearly perfect in every way. Her soldiers. Her friends. Gathered here in this moment, and celebrating the life they had lived thus far. She wished her talents included the ability to paint. Such a scene deserved to be immortalized. Perhaps Bernadetta could be convinced to oblige once everything was said in done. A passing servant bowed at the waist before gesturing to her empty glass. The Emperor allowed him to take it.

“Emperor!” She blinked as Hanneman appeared at her elbow. The man’s face was pinched, aggravation clearly written there. Behind him was an exasperated Manuela. The former noble huffed mightily. “Please settle something for us, Your Majesty. This _harpy_ absolutely refuses to see perspective!”

“Don’t trouble Her Majesty with your foolishness, Hanneman. The poor girl no doubt wants to enjoy the party, not be bored to tears.” Manuela sniffed, tossing her hair. The man scowled, and adjusted his spectacles.

“Bored? I think you’ve mistaken my genuinely engaging hypothesis with one of your tired ditties.”

“Ditties?! Why you puffed up, wrinkled pile of––”

“Calm yourselves,” The Emperor cut in, sliding between them. She felt a headache begin to rear its ugly head. At times their bickering was almost entertaining, but today was meant for peace and relaxation. Not roundabout arguments. “What seems to be the problem this time?”

“Now, Your Majesty, brace yourself for a groundbreaking hypothesis...” Hanneman stared into her eyes with fierce conviction. “A tart...is also a pie.”

Edelgard blinked.

“Pardon?”

“Oh here we go!” Manuela exhaled, shoulders sinking. The woman shot her older colleague a glare. “I told you, you daft fool. They are two separate things!”

“They are prepared similarly with similar ingredients.” Hanneman insisted.

“Similar is not the same. Which is why they have different names in the first place!”

“They both consist of an outer crust which is then slathered with a sweet filling, namely pudding or fruit. The only difference is the size. Thus a tart is a type of pie!”

“You...” Edelgard took a deep breath. She felt the muscle in her jaw twitch. “...Are fighting over pastries? Really?”

“_I’m _not fighting. I was proposing a thoughtful analysis. Then _someone_ decided to ruin it with her childish and linear thinking.” The man straightened his tie, paying no need to the fuming woman across from him. Manuela rolled her eyes, hand flexing on her crop. “But please, Your Majesty, settle this ridiculous argument. You agree with me, don’t you?”

The Emperor looked at both of them for a long moment. Then she plastered on a smile before shaking her head in manufactured regret.

“I honestly can’t say, but Lysithea perchance might be able to settle this. Why don’t you two go ask her?”

“A brilliant idea!” Hanneman’s face lit up. Then he strode over to where Lysithea was scarfing down cake, appearing oddly giddy. Manuela offered her a doleful look, but from her glittering eyes she knew it was mostly affected than genuine. She followed after the man and shouted at his back. Edelgard watched them leave, amused despite herself. Pastries...honestly. She wondered if they were aware how like a married couple they seemed.

“Whew!” Suddenly, Alois appeared next to her. The knight was grinning widely, stretching the flat ends of his mustache. He had cleaned up rather admirably from his days as a wandering mercenary. Now, his appearance was about the same as it had been years ago; save for a few extra crows feet.

“These young men and their endurance...” Alois started to muse, rubbing his chin. “I’m starting to feel my age watching them. I just can’t keep up!”

“Perhaps you should cut back on the sweets.” Edelgard turned her gaze to the sweet bread in his hand. He laughed then, a great booming guffaw that drew several perplexed glances.

“Ha! You’ve caught me! What can I say, you don’t eat good grub like this out on the road.”

“Speaking of which...” She lifted her head to match his taller stature. A regrettable necessity. “When do you plan to leave? I would like to be aware in case I have need of your men.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea!” Alois bit off a sizable piece of his dessert. He chewed happily. “I was thinking maybe by the Wyvern Moon, but I could be convinced to postpone it. It’s been very nice seeing everyone again.”

“Why didn’t you reach out to us?” Edelgard asked, curiosity sparking. The man hesitated, and his smile dampened.

“Truthfully?” He wiped away a few stray crumbs from his mustache. “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.”

“What?”

Alois sighed and his great chest deflated; all bravado gone for this moment.

“I served the church for years. Killed my fair share of ‘heretics’. Even if I didn’t know about Rhea...I still felt like a fool. I thought maybe you would think the same.”

“I think you’re a wonderful knight. Captain Jeralt would have been proud.” She reached out and patted his arm lightly. It probably looked terribly awkward of her, but she didn’t regret it. His expression cleared and his exuberance returned in full force. Alois reached out and seized her into a bear-like embrace.

“Oh thank you, Edelgard! You really are a great Emperor, you know that? Everyone I meet says so!”

“That’s lovely, Alois.” Edelgard winced and extracted herself from his hold. She doubted very many people said that, but she was grateful for the words nonetheless.

“Sorry, but...” He sniffed, and wiped something from his eyes. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words for what seems like forever. Excuse me, I’m going to go drink something strong to steel myself.”

With a whirl of his long white cape, the man vanished into the crowd. Edelgard breathed in deeply, grateful for the silence. The man was growing on her, but his personality was an acquired taste. She could hardly keep up with his boundless enthusiasm. Deciding not to attract any more impromptu passersby, she made her way to a quiet corner. Sadly, it was not to be. A hand was placed around her arm, turning her to face a grinning Caspar.

“Edelgard, come join us!” He said, sweeping his mussed locks aside.

“I’m not going to dance, Caspar.” The Emperor stared him down, trying hard not to let his infectious joy spread to her. She was perfectly fine making her own fun. Caspar guffawed, before pushing her to the dense crowd. Curiously, people were no longer dancing. They appeared to be waiting for something, but what that could be she did not know. The answer came as Caspar dragged her to the center of the floor. Suddenly he gave a great shout, gaining their attention.

“Everyone listen up!” He bellowed, voice echoing throughout the chamber. Then her general patted her shoulder meaningfully. “Our great and indomitable Emperor has a few words to say! Your Majesty?”

The crowd grew silent. Anticipation spread across their faces, eyes pinned to their silent liege. Edelgard favored the man next to her with a sharp glower. Caspar wasn’t daunted. He arched his brows in a clear challenge. Sighing, she relented and straightened her posture.

“First...let me say that it has been an honor to serve with all of you brave people. You are truly the backbone of the Empire, and if it wasn’t for you I would not be able to accomplish all that I have. Words can hardly express the gratitude I feel. So, with all of my heart, I thank you.”

A smattering of applause caught her off guard momentarily, but she continued after gathering herself.

“The past four years have been trying indeed, but I believe we have done admirably well in this war. Soon, the fighting will be done and we can finally lay our arms down to rest. You will return to your families as heroes of the Empire and saviors of Fόdlan.”

Discreetly, Hubert walked to her side. He placed a glass in her hands, filled with glittering red wine. It was a pointed message, one she did not ignore. She raised it high. It caught the light and shone like a star.

“Until that day, let us celebrate the life we have fought hard to keep. And let us keep fighting until the darkness that surrounds us is no more! A toast, in honor of you, those who have proven their ability to weather the dark!”

“Hear, Hear!” Just as it was years ago, Caspar shouted to the air. Applause broke out in full, and the room rang with its presence. Those holding cups drank deep and hailed her in return. She took a sip before handing the cup off to Caspar. The man to her back was a steady presence, solid and dependable. She smiled and cast her eye around the room, meeting the gazes of her Strike Force. Dorothea, still wrapped in Petra’s arms, grinned widely; her eyes sparkled like gemstones of peridot. Petra herself was just as ecstatic, and she looked to the Emperor with pride.

Just a few paces from them, the former Kingdom nobles clapped their hands rapidly. Ingrid looked sheepish as Sylvain whistled. Even Felix appeared affected, though his smile was more of a slight turn of his lips than anything else. Bernadetta was hiding behind Ferdinand’s back, but she waved timidly in her direction. Behind them, Leonie was hooting something indecipherable; from the exasperated look Lysithea sported, she probably didn’t want to know. Curiously, Linhardt was at the pale girl’s side. His expression was politely interested as he clapped, managing not to look entirely bored for a change. Finally, Edelgard spotted Hanneman, Manuela, and Alois. All three of them were looking at her with fond smiles, though the knight’s was a broad grin which stretched cheek-to-cheek.

It occurred to her then, as she felt the weight of their trust, something she should have realized a long time ago. For too long she believed her path would be solitary. No one to understand the need or cost of her actions. But instead, she was not alone. They were here with her, and would continue to be so until the end. Yet another consequence of Byleth’s choice. _There are too many debts, I must repay._ Edelgard took a steadying breath. _Hurry back, so that I may thank you properly._

“A fine speech,” Hubert stated, voice lacking his usual bland inflection. For once, he sounded lighthearted. Edelgard glanced at him before walking away from the crowd. The people had gone back to their merry-making with ease, laughter and conversation once again filling the room. She waved away the praise, and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from its hold.

“It was middling. I’ll do better next year.”

“As I’m sure.” He smirked, but it faded quite quickly. Suddenly his expression darkened. “I didn’t want to ruin the festivities by bringing this to your notice, but...”

“Has something happened?” The Emperor stilled, and looked to him with sharp eyes. Hubert pursed his lips.

“A _guest_ has appeared on the premises. He has been very clear that he wishes to see you in private.”

“...Is that so?” She glanced away, back to where she had left her Eagles. They were happy in this moment, and painfully oblivious to the danger in their midst. Edelgard was determined to keep it that way.

“Tell him I’ll meet in the courtyard. Nowhere else.”

“Understood.” Hubert bowed his head. His dour expression betrayed his discontent. “Shall I go with you, Your Majesty?”

“No.” She looked away from the light and turned her back to the man. “He’ll behave himself. At least while he’s here at the monastery. If not, I know how to handle him.”

“Of course.”

With those parting words, Hubert left her alone. Edelgard inhaled a quick breath and held it for a time. Then she exhaled heavily, hand curling at her side. Heart heavy, the Emperor walked out of the room. It was time to face the dark once more.

* * *

It was cold at night in the monastery.The mountain air did not hold the warmth of day, and the wind was always harsh. As Edelgard walked down the stone steps, she bundled her cloak tight. She spotted him easily enough. Thales, a dark tower of malignant intent, waited for her in the middle of the path. His expression was cool and betrayed nothing of his purpose. It never did. His mouth twisted into a sly smile; a mockery of the genuine ones worn by her friends just moments ago. He tilted his head in greeting.

“It’s good to see you, Emperor.”

“Lord Arundel.” She appraised him, careful not to use his true name. One never knew when there were listening ears. “I didn’t expect you. Why are you here?”

“Is there something wrong with me checking on my beloved niece?” Thales held her stare. In the black of the night, they appeared more empty than usual; an unreadable void. “And here I was, about to give you a gift. Such impertinence.”

“I have no need for your gifts, Lord Arundel.” Edelgard bit the words out swiftly. Her jaw clenched tight. She was not in the mood to entertain his games. At her back, the warmth of the party remained. Reminding her of the place she was meant to be, and what he was keeping her from. Thales leered at her unpleasantly.

“Was it not too long ago that you expressed interest in a relic of your own? Perhaps that was merely a dream then. A pity.”

“A relic?” The word stole from her without her permission. Thales smiled, slow and ominous, the picture of a snake reeling in its prey.

“Indeed. A powerful one, and able to be wielded by _you_.”

“How is that possible? All the relics of the Ten Elites have been accounted for, and the Tomb of Seiros contained only the Sword of the Creator.” She eyed him warily, fingers flexing by her waist. Despite her skepticism, interest ignited within breast. A relic. Such a power would surely turn the tide in her favor. Byleth’s blade had impressed upon her the sheer strength held in those weapons. Normal tools of war could never compete.

“Does it matter?” Thales was, as ever, aggravatingly evasive. He wavered his hand airily, taking on an unconcerned countenance. She did not trust it. “I offer it, for you to use as you will. I only ask one thing in return.”

“And that would be?” She tensed, expecting something grave. He stared at her for a prolonged moment. Then, as if content with what he found in her face, Thales chuckled darkly.

“Use it to rend that pitiful woman to pieces. She has long since served her purpose, and needs to be disposed of.”

“Rhea?” Edelgard paused and waited. Then she spoke again, observing his reaction. “Or Seiros rather?”

Thales stilled. A deathly calm stole over his shadowed features. His mouth contorted into an ugly sneer.

“You’ve learned some inconvenient truths, little niece. Take care not to step further, or I _will_ be forced to act.”

“Then you don’t deny it,” Edelgard demanded. He narrowed his eyes upon her; predatory and threatening.

“Who, or what, she is does not concern you. She stands in your way, does she not? Use the relic, Emperor, and fulfill your purpose.” He held out his hand and summoned something from the abyss. The gathering shadows shifted and molded into his hand. Then they disappeared, leaving behind a great axe carved from bone. It was tall and weighty, the end forming a cruel maw of curved teeth. The weapon was grisly, just as the creature who created it. It appeared powerful; akin to the hero relics she had seen years ago. Her hand itched to grab it from him. She hoped he could not read that desire on her face.

“You don’t do anything without cost. What favor will I owe should I accept this from you?”

“Trust me as little as you like.” Thales stretched out his arm, bearing the weapon for her to take. His expression cooled into deliberate nonchalance once more. “Take the relic, Edelgard von Hresvelg. You shall not get a second opportunity.”

Edelgard glanced at his face, but there was nothing to decipher from it. He was done humoring her sense of humanity it appeared, and would not toy with the farce any longer. Instead, he portrayed only preternatural calm. She swallowed hard, and her eyes slid to the relic. The temptation was sharp and cloying. But could she really trust something from Those Who Slithered in the Dark? Would Thales come calling one day, determined she throw herself to some dark task he had concocted? She could not say for certain. The relic hovered there, wicked teeth glinting. Edelgard stretched out her hand before seizing it within her fingers.

It was not quite as heavy as it first seemed, she found. The material was light, and the grip felt natural. She despised that such a gift was relinquished by _his_ hand. Suddenly, the weapon began to glow; a fiery red that was both familiar and strange. A perfect match. The Emperor looked up from inspecting it, only to pause. Thales had vanished, leaving only wisps of endless black. They blended with the night until they too dissipated into nothing. She bit her cheek, and clenched the relic in a fierce grip.

Thales was confident in his purpose. Too much so for her liking. No doubt the axe held great promise to be more of a burden than a boon. Such was the nature of dealing with creatures that did not belong in the realm of humanity. Him, and the Immaculate One, would pay for their manipulations. Until that fateful day came, she would wield this relic and carve her path forward; one bloody step at a time. Derdriu. Fhirdiad. Riegan. Blaiddyd. They would all be swept aside.

Yet she did not enjoy playing Thales’ pawn, unwitting or no. It didn’t sit well with her, the way he had looked so knowing; anticipating her acceptance. For years she had suffered under the weight of that harsh gaze, only becoming truly free of it in the years after her declaration of war. As a child, young and so very frightened, his viper’s stare haunted her dreams. It still did, in truth. Even in Faerghus, cradled in her mother and Lambert’s arms, Thales did not relent. _You are mine_, his eyes had always seemed to hiss. And for a time, that had been true. His weapon to wield. His pawn to move in the game he had orchestrated.His stolen child to mold in his likeness; daughter not in blood but in purpose. But ultimately, he had failed.

_Her mother stood before her, but it wasn’t her. Not really. The eyes were wrong, and the smile was false. Thales watched her from over the woman’s shoulder; observing. Evaluating. The woman, no the creature, tried to embrace her. She shoved it away and screamed. Down it tumbled and fell, head splitting upon the wall. The ensuing punishment that day had been unpleasant. A lesson earned in blood._

Edelgard cast the memories away, far from her reach. She was her own person and the proof of that lay in the building she had left. Edelgard turned around and headed back the way she came; returning to the comforting warmth of camaraderie and soft laughter. _I’m not yours to control anymore. _She stepped through the great doors, and light hit her face. The shadows fled, unable to follow.

_I belong to them now, and I have no intention of ever leaving that behind._

* * *

With the end of the feast, came a tangible change in atmosphere at Garreg Mach. The celebrants returned to their duties, becoming stalwart soldiers once again. They picked back up their weapons and the Black Eagles tended to the task of serving their Emperor faithfully. A week later, a guest of another sort required her attention. The hour was late when Edelgard heard a knock at her door. She had been in the midst of writing missives to the eastern shore, orders that may or may not go unanswered due to the recent storms along the coast. The Emperor frowned, stealing a glance to a nearby candle. The wax had melted to half its original height. She felt apt to ignore the noise until it came again; a little more insistent. Sighing, Edelgard went to greet the surprise visitor. She blinked as Bernadetta’s anxious face greeted her.

“Uh...hello, Your Majesty.” The other woman mumbled, fidgeting. Something was wrapped in her hands, covered by a cloth. “Can I come in for a bit? Or am I interrupting something? I’m sorry! You probably don’t want to take guests so late at night. I can leave––”

“It’s fine, Bernadetta. I was just writing some letters.” The Emperor stepped away from the door. “You can enter, if you wish.”

“Ah! Okay...”

The young Varley walked inside, unable to hide the curiosity plastered across her face. Edelgard noted that the woman seemed to relax once she was within solid walls. Professor raised her furry head as Bernadetta entered, blue eyes shining in the dark. Suddenly the cat bounded down from the bed and rubbed her body across the woman’s legs. Bernadetta visibly brightened.

“Tiny Professor!” She picked the cat up, sliding the curious object she had brought under her arm, and rubbed her face against white whiskers. “Oh look at you! So chubby and pretty, yes you are!”

Edelgard cleared her throat, and Bernadetta startled. A fierce blush rose on her cheeks and she set the cat down delicately.

“Sorry, Your Majesty! I just...”

“It’s quite alright. In my private moments, I do much the same.”

“Really?!” Bernadetta squeaked. “Wow...maybe Bernie should have given you all three kittens. Then you could do it extra often!”

“That would have been unnecessary,” Edelgard said quickly. She loved her ornery little feline, but her furniture wouldn’t be able to survive three pairs of claws gouging it daily. “I think the good Professor here, is enough of a handful.”

“Aw...alright.” Bernadetta suddenly looked down at the object she brought, as if remembering why she came in the first place. Her expression grew hesitant. “Uh...speaking of cats, I have a present for Tiny Professor. T-That is if you don’t mind!”

“That would be lovely. Thank you, Bernadetta.” Edelgard raised her brow as the other woman unraveled the cloth wrap. Inside, was a knitted sweater; obviously made for animal use rather than human. It looked woolen and pleasantly warm. Professor waited at Bernadetta’s heel, tail gliding back and forth. The woman looked to the Emperor timidly.

“Winter’s coming up soon, so I was thinking that Professor could use some extra warmth. Unless you think it’s stupid? Oh, you do don’t you?! Ugh, Bernie why do you––”

“I think it’s a wonderful gift.” Edelgard stepped forward and reached for the small garment. It was even softer than it appeared. Professor, curious as always, leaned up to get a good look. She meowed, though it sounded more like a demanding yowl than anything else. “I think she likes it already.”

“Oh! Good.” A ragged sigh escaped from Bernadetta in a huff. Relief filled her big, grey eyes. “I’ve been knitting clothes for the other animals, but I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate my...er...audacity, I guess?”

“I assure you, such a thought never crossed my mind.” Edelgard paused, and considered the other woman. “You can always stop by and check on Professor, if you want. You did take care of her as a kitten; most admirably might I add.”

“That would be great!” Bernadetta nodded her head rapidly, excited at the prospect. “But, um, what if you’re busy...or something?”

“Even then. I can make time for friends too, after all.”

“Friends?” Suddenly an awed look appeared on Bernadetta. Her eyes were wide and gleaming. Edelgard nodded, firm in her assertion. Unless it proved necessary, she wasn’t in the habit of lying to those she trusted.

“Of course.”

“I...yeah.” Bernadetta smiled widely, her ingrained shyness fading a bit. “Um...you know, Your Majesty, you seem different. Just a bit.”

“Do I?”

“Uh-huh. More...approachable, I guess.” Bernadetta froze. “Not that you weren’t approachable before! You were, well no actually you weren’t. You were pretty scary. Not like Lady Rhea scary though! Er, but you can still be sort of frightening even now and...”

“I think I understand. But change is natural, especially over the years. Even you have changed,” Edelgard replied patiently.

“I-I have?!”

“Quite. Five years ago, you wouldn’t have had the courage to travel to my quarters alone. Nor, stay out from your room for so long. Yet today you approached me without fear, mostly. You’ve grown, just as I have.”

“If you put it like that...I guess I have.” Bernadetta nodded to herself, smiling bashfully. “We all have. E-Even Felix isn’t so mad anymore, and Ferdinand doesn’t talk about being a noble as much.”

“I’m not too sure about the last one, but yes.” Edelgard leaned down to present the gift to Professor. The cat hovered her nose around it before attempting to swipe the material with her claws. The sweater moved out of her reach. “Hmm. It appears I may need some assistance putting this on. Would you care to help?”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty!”

* * *

Winter came fast that year, stealing upon them like a thief in the night; sudden and without warning. Alois had long since left, declaring that he would return once spring had flowered. He also insisted they throw another party. Edelgard humored the man with a non-committal response. She would make sure it happened, of course. Despite the unwelcome snake that had appeared, it was still the most entertained she had been in a long while. Her Strike Force felt much the same. Troubles within the Empire were few at this time; for the cold kept many soldiers and merchants away from the roads. Even the local banditry dared not take their chances in the dead of winter.

Since snow had recently visited the monastery, the gardens were not ideal for conversation. Instead, the Emperor chose to relax in her study. Often a few of the Strike Force joined her. Typically it was Dorothea, but others were known to visit. On one particularly frosty day, Edelgard prepared a kettle of tea in the company of Lysithea, Petra, and the songstress. Ingrid had bowed out earlier to attend to her duties. She had taken to her new post as captain quite readily. Leonie was much the same, relishing her promotion to Lieutenant Commander. Seeing something in her periphery, Edelgard sent a scolding glance Lysithea’s way. The younger woman paused, caught in the midst of pilfering a glazed scone.

“Patience is a mark of character, Lady Ordelia. Try not to forget your manners.”

Lysithea’s cheeks bulged in a pout, but she drew her hand back reluctantly. While she often complained about being much younger than her peers, she was unable to curtail some aspects of her immaturity. Across from her, Dorothea stifled a laugh.

“Dear me, Edie. Let the poor girl have her treats. It will be eaten regardless.”

“I agree.” Lysithea perked, offering the songstress an appraising glance. “Though do not mistake my hunger as me being overeager. I merely...missed morning meal. That’s all.”

“I would never think otherwise.” Dorothea tipped a dollop of honey into her tea, smiling lightly. Her gaze was sly. “Why, to be so keen to gorge one’s self on sweets...it would be the very _height_ of impropriety.”

Lysithea flinched, her pale features losing even more color. Edelgard rolled her eyes. She adored her friend, but she really did need to stop with her bothersome japes. Blessedly, Petra turned to face the songstress. Her expression was charmingly perplexed.

“It is? But, Dorothea, why did you not be stopping me from handing you those Brigid candies? I would not have making of them if I had known.”

“Well...” Dorothea drew back, eyes wide. “That was...I didn’t mean––”

“She’s only jesting.” Edelgard interrupted with a chuckle. She flicked her hair back, having chosen to wear it down for the day. It did get terribly drafty in the study. “An irascible tease, but do try to forgive her for it. It’s how she expresses her affection.”

“Oh good.” Lysithea breathed out, plainly relieved. “Um. Not that I took offense, of course.”

“I am glad of it as well,” Petra stated with an amiable nod. “I would be hating to think I had given an improper gift.”

“A gift from you would never be improper, or unwanted for that matter.” Discreetly Dorothea shifted closer. She was wearing an oddly thin dress, especially for the weather at present. She crossed her legs, and the garment rose along her thigh. Petra glanced down at the movement. Her eyes widened marginally, the mark on her cheek moving as well. _Ah._ Edelgard hid her amused smirk. _So that was her game_. Oblivious to these happenings, Lysithea put a healthy spoonful of sugar into her cup.

“This brew is quite good.” The woman sipped on it thoughtfully, her ashen brows drawn together. The Emperor looked into her own and swirled the grounds with a tilt of her hand.

“It is, isn’t it? Not my favorite by any means, but it is pleasant on a day such as this.”

“Cold and miserable you mean? Why, yes, it _is_ good for that.” Dorothea set down her tea gently, before wrapping her arms around herself. “Tell me again, Edie, why we must stay in the mountains like this? Can’t we go to Enbarr for the winter, or better yet, Boramas?”

“I’m surprised at you, Dorothea. I never expected you to be so beset by the cold. Didn’t you once play the role of Princess Aisling?” Edelgard blew at the steam rising from her drink. She changed her attention to the cat lying on the window sill. Professor, plump and content, slept soundly. The animal was clothed in Bernadetta’s sweater, and she looked comfortably warm. Her whiskers twitched every once in a while.

“Hmph. You play one role and suddenly you’re pigeonholed into it forever!” Dorothea huffed and cast up a hand; a theatrical display of annoyance. Lysithea tilted her head, brow raised in question. Petra appeared even more confused, and watched the two unsure where to settle her gaze.

“This Princess...I am not thinking I recognize such a story.”

“Me either,” Lysithea admitted. Dorothea looked at the both of them, aghast.

“It’s the most famous and romantic story ever told! How can you not recognize it?”

“I highly doubt they told this story anywhere else in Fόdlan. After all,it’s a tale featuring an Imperial character triumphing over foreign occupation.” Edelgard paused, thinking for a moment. “Well, save for the princess herself. She’s from Faerghus if I recall properly.”

“It’s a _romance_. It’s inherently meant for everyone.” Dorothea flashed an eager grin Petra’s way. “Would the two of you like to hear it?”

“It sounds most interesting.” Lysithea nodded with attempted solemnity. No one was fooled. Her eyes were abnormally bright with impatient curiosity.

“I, too, would like to be hearing this.” Petra leaned forward in Dorothea’s direction. The songstress was visibly chuffed, and she cleared her throat primly.

“Very well. Let’s see...Many, many years ago there lived a princess of Faerghus. Her name was Princess Aisling, and she was beautiful as a meadowlark. Almost as radiant as myself, in fact.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Dorothea.” Edelgard sighed, and folded her hands under her chin. “The tale begins with Conobar, and _then_ turns to Aisling.”

“Well if you’re so precious about the details, perhaps you can oblige.” Dorothea sniffed with feigned choler. Her words, while sharp, did not contain any bite.

“If you insist, I shall.” The Emperor straightened, and prepared herself. Then she began, her voice strong and clear.

_Many years ago, far from the memory of men, ruled the Emperor Lycaeus. The Emperor had two sons. Alaric, strong of body and noble of heart, and Baer, who was cowardly and duplicitous. An ambitious schemer, Baer devised a plan to oust his brother from the line of succession. He conspired with the Queen of Almyra, his lover, and murdered his father with Alaric’s knife. The Prime Minister discovered the body and cried for Alaric’s head. The man was forced to flee, deep into Kingdom territory and away from his rightful crown._

_ All the while, Baer and his foreign mistress seized the Imperial throne in a bloody coup. With a legion of Almyran soldiers he slayed the Ministry in cold blood and declared himself Emperor. Unbeknownst to him, his brother had hid himself away and taken the name Conobar. There in Faerghus, he earned his living as a thief and hired sword; forced from his noble ideals and calling in favor of survival._

“This story…is it a history?” Petra suddenly asked. Edelgard only shook her head.

“No, though many scholars believe it may have been inspired by Emperor’s Lycoan III’s reign. He had two children just as Lycaeus, but they were twin daughters rather than sons. By all accounts they got along famously. They did, however, hold a duel to see who would take the crown.”

“Yes, that’s very interesting, but what happened next?” Lysithea insisted, thoroughly rapt. With a small smile, Edelgard continued on.

_The man now known as Conobar, traveled all across Faerghus to make his fortune. He planned to eventually usurp his dastardly brother, but he knew he would need gold and an army. One day, he found himself in Fhirdiad and ended up stealing from the fair Princess Aisling. Now the princess was no wilting flower, and she demanded he relinquish her coin purse. Conobar declined at first, but the princess was not willing to let him keep his spoils. She chased him through the streets of the capitol and they soon crossed steel. The fallen Imperial prince was impressed, as he had never faced someone who could fight as well as he, and a woman besides. Intrigued, he called a halt to the fight and asked for her name._

_ “Princess Aisling Blaiddyd,” She told him proudly. “And yours sir?”_

_ “Conobar,” Was all he replied. Then with a flourish he stole the necklace from her neck and escaped into the crowded marketplace._

“Well that was awfully impolite of him.” Lysithea scoffed and twisted to face Dorothea. “I thought you said this was a great romance! This Conobar fellow is dreadful so far.”

“Edie seems to favor the traditional telling.” The songstress gave an aggrieved sigh, chin in her hand. “In other words, the boring one. In the operatic version, Conobar saves Aisling from a slew of brigands.”

“Interruptions are quite unnecessary, you two. Regardless Dorothea, you forfeited the right to complain when you offered me to tell it.” The Emperor glanced at her friends with pointed censure. “As I was saying...”

_Now Aisling was not easily fooled and no one had ever dared make a fool of her, but rather than offense she felt unwillingly drawn to the thief. He was not like anything she had ever known, and compared to the spoiled nobility who vied for her hand she much preferred him. A moon passed from that fateful day, and Aisling wandered into the city hoping to see him again. Unknown to her, Conobar watched from the shadows. Stealthily, he crept to her side and greeted the fair princess. She was irate at first, but was soon stunned speechless as the man handed back her necklace and purse. It was the beginning of a deep friendship, and a love that would blossom in the moons to come._

_Unknown to them, the King of Faerghus boasted of his daughter’s beauty to all that would hear, hoping a wealthy suitor would come to take her hand. And many did arrive, even _ _from_ _ across the sea. Princes _ _of_ _ Dagda, _ _Morfis_ _, and beyond th__e southern and eastern ends of the world_ _. _ _So the King concocted a brilliant plan. There would be a tournament held in the capitol, with the fair Aisling’s hand as the prize. _ _Of course Aisling herself was none too pleased. She had found the man she would marry in Conobar, and loved him despite his dubious past._

_Conobar, unwilling to cede her hand to another, _ _decided to take part. So it was that on the day of the tournament, Conobar rode as a banner-less knight in a suit of mail. _ _He fought long and hard, felling each princeling and noble who dared stand in his way. Soon, the final bout came and he _ _defeated_ _ the last _ _suitor__. _ _Impressed with his effort, the King called for him to reveal himself. Conobar did and bowed before the monarch. _

_However,_ _ before he could claim his rightful prize, a noblemen stood and declared him a charlatan. This noble had been robbed by Conobar _ _before_ _ and recognized his dishonest face. Enraged, the King took his sword and went to cut off _ _the thief’s_ _ head. Aisling threw herself in the way, and shielded him from her father._

_ “_ _Pray, my father!” She begged at his feet. “Do not kill him. I know him to be good and honest man. Let him prove himself to you!”_

_The King was far from impressed, but he humored his daughter. He bid Conobar to rise and granted him a nearly impossible task._

_ “_ _Across the sea, on an island of black glass, there lies a relic of unimaginable power. Bring this blade to me _ _within three moons_ _, and I shall allow you to claim my daughter.”_

“Ugh, claim? Really, Edie?” Dorothea’s brows arched high on her face. She was not happy, it would seem. Professor hopped down from her perch on the sill before pawing to the Emperor's side. The cat meowed and plopped down around her legs. Edelgard refilled her tea cup, then brought it up to her lips.

“Does the wording really bother you that much? I’m being rather faithful to the original telling, I believe.”

“It’s archaic is what it is. The opera script is much more romantic. Nasty notions such as ownership are gloriously absent.”

“I will try to censer it then, in regards to impressionable ears.”

“Perhaps I can be hearing your version later, Dorothea.” Petra chimed in. A surprisingly diplomatic approach. Brigid would have a capable ruler once all was said and done. Dorothea looked liable to agree. The songstress stared at Petra as if she hung the moon and perhaps, to her, she did. The woman did enjoy such romantic imagery.

“I think I’ll continue now, if you please.”

_And so Conobar set off across the sea, past the tidal pools of the Albinean channel and through the great stretch of the northern ocean. Up he went, desperately in search of the mysterious relic. In Fhirdiad, the King was triumphant. He knew that Conobar could not possibly survive the journey, and the relic in question was a mere legend _ _lost to time__. The _ _Ki__ng _ _then_ _ told his daughter that once the three moons had passed she was to ‘choose’ a husband. _ _Aisling, though disheartened, did not lose hope. _

_ “My Conobar will come back to me,” _ _S__he told herself. The princess _ _stopped_ _ by the great gates of the capitol, day after day. _ _In the cold and harsh northern wind, did she wait._ _ Even when snow began to fall and her feet froze in their shoes, she remained waiting. Weeks passed in this manner until they turned into months. Yet still, Aisling believed she would see her love._

_ But when the three moons had passed...Conobar had not arrived. Aisling was despondent, and many told her that the man had likely perished in the treacherous _ _frozen_ _ sea. _ _The King, believing his daughter had seen reason, demanded she finally pick a suitor. Aisling did him one better. She declared that whoever could best her would win her hand. _

_If no one could manage the feat, then she would be granted the right to marry as she pleased._ _ The princes were stunned, for they had never heard of a woman fighting to _ _prevent_ _ a betrothal. Her father did not believe her capable, of course, and accepted her terms. _ _So it was that Aisling dueled suitor after suitor. She was fast and cunning, besting them with guile when strength alone could not prevail. At the end, she stood the victor._

“Wow...” Lysithea was leaned back in her chair, blinking. “She was quite the admirable figure then. Let me guess, Conobar came back eventually right?”

“No.” Dorothea sighed regretfully. Her expression was wistful. “Aisling waited until the end of her days for him. A little after the tournament, she found a letter he had left for her. In it, he explained who he truly was. For the memory of her lost love, she avenged his honor by routing the Almyrans from the Empire in his stead. After that, Aisling ended up marrying his cousin and ruled the Empire as an Empress. But she never loved him the way she did her Conobar.”

“What? That’s an awful ending!”

“It’s a tragedy about two star-crossed lovers.” Dorothea frowned, looking a bit irked. “I think it’s rather sweet. A love so enduring between two people who can never be...why it’s what the opera is made for!”

“Strange.” Edelgard tore a pastry between her fingers. The crust flaked off in her hand. Professor, greedy animal that she was, licked them up promptly. Then she curled up back into a ball, falling asleep. Edelgard smiled, amused and wry. “It would seem the ‘traditional’ telling is superior, after all.”

“Does that one have the happiness?” Petra perked up.

“Why yes, indeed it does. You see after Conobar set sail, he crashed onto an island which appeared to be made of black glass. The location which the relic was supposed to be housed. He searched tirelessly for weeks, but no such relic existed; if it ever did. Soon the time expired, and he knew he had failed. He became despondent, and turned back to Fhirdiad.”

_ Suddenly, in the middle of the sea, he spotted a man who was drowning. He saved this unlucky fellow and learned that he was the King of Albinea. Conobar was skeptical, but he assisted the stranger nonetheless. Lo and behold, the man was indeed the Albinean King. It turned out that his ship had capsized _ _in a _ _terrible_ _ storm__. The foreign King, grateful for his life, offered a boon onto Conobar. _ _Knowing he could not _ _marry_ _ his lady love without her father’s permission, Conobar decided to recapture his lost crown._

_With the Albinean Army, he led the charge against his brother and the Almyran Queen. Soon, Baer was slain upon the Emperor’s _ _golden_ _ throne. Conobar, now called Alaric once more, had won back his birthright. _ _He drove the Almyrans from the Empire and brokered an alliance with Albinea that would last for decades. _ _Yet Conobar could not enjoy his good fortune. _ _He was certain that his Aisling had chosen another, forced _ _into marriage_ _ by her father. _

_During this time, the King of Faerghus had fallen ill. The man __passed__ and Aisling assumed the throne as Queen. Still holding onto her faith that her love would return to her, she __decided not to take a__ husband. __Years passed, long and slow, with neither knowing the truth._ _Eventually word_ _reached__ across the border and told the tale of the brave Emperor Alaric. Aisling did not trust this man, who had seemingly stolen his throne through fratricide and patricide. She demanded an audience with him, not knowing that the man she would soon see would be her lost Conobar._

“They met again under the arching gates of Enbarr. Alaric was overjoyed and Aisling was stunned into silence. Then she ran into his embrace; her faith finally answered.” Edelgard finished, and pushed back a strand of her hair. She noted the awed look in Lysithea’s eyes, as well as the beaming face of Petra. Dorothea appeared reluctantly impressed. She huffed, trying to appear stoic.

“Well...I suppose the traditional story _does_ have its merits.” After a moment she grinned, placing her hand over her heart. “Oh, who am I fooling? I much preferred that ending, honestly.”

“I am in agreement.” Petra nodded quickly. She glanced to the songstress, who was currently leaning against her shoulder. “I am regretting that I can not see you performing this, Dorothea. I would have much love for it, I think.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Dorothea giggled, twirling her hair. Across from them Lysithea was wiping at her cheeks. Edelgard favored her with a fond look.

“Do you need a handkerchief, Lysithea?”

The pale girl sniffed, scowling.

“I’m not a child, Your Majesty. It’s just...really dusty in here!”

“As I’m sure.”

The girl pouted, pushing back her silver hair.

“It’s not because the story was sad. It was certainly happier than Dorothea’s moronic ending.”

“Moronic?! I will have you know––”

“A vast majority of people prefer tragedy over happy endings. At least, that seems to be the consensus among the nobility. Supposedly because it’s far more realistic.” The Emperor smoothly interrupted Dorothea’s impending tirade. The other woman was even tempered, but she was known to lecture when it came to the opera. Manuela’s influence no doubt.

“That seems a bit counter-intuitive. Don’t people tell stories to be entertained?”

“Or to be teaching lessons,” Petra added. “My Grandfather always had the learning in mind. Though his stories were being about war mostly.”

“You’re right. Tragedies do that quite well, on both accounts. But sometimes you want to hear about the good of the world, too. That’s why tales about honorable knights and fair maidens are so satisfying.” Edelgard crossed her legs, sipping her tea gently. She thought of her own life and how she wanted it to end. “There is something undeniably attractive about a happy ending.”

“You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you Edie?” Dorothea mused.

The Emperor paused, cup hovering in the air. Then she smiled and bowed her head; a gentle acceptance.

“Perhaps so.” Edelgard looked out the window, and watched as a raven flew by. It stopped on a nearby rooftop, and ruffled its glossy feathers. The bird turned, and its eyes met her own. At her feet, Professor stirred from her slumber. Edelgard polished off her tea, holding the raven’s gaze.

“Or it could be that I’m just waiting for my Conobar.”

* * *

An unseasonable warmth passed through the monastery grounds at the tail end of the Ethereal Moon, bringing with it a temporary thaw in the midst of winter. The greenhouse had recovered its wares and blooms, and soldiers visited to gather gifts for their loves; both platonic and not. Among the life that had abruptly sprouted, plans for war were made. The Emperor knew that action would need to be taken soon. This deadlock could not remain forever, and she refused for her purpose to stagnate. Her father had allowed it to happen to him, but she refused to share the same fate. Ionius IX would be a footnote in Imperial history. Edelgard von Hresvelg would be more than that.

The most likely course of action to take, would be to conquer the Alliance in full. House Ordelia had sent a letter recently, informing her that Claude von Riegan had been drastically preoccupied of late. Sreng raiders had besieged Leicester’s northern coast and the man was scrambling to tend to the impromptu crisis. The Emperor could not let such a golden opportunity escape her grasp. Taking advantage of Claude’s distraction, she would attempt to seize the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Once the forces there were felled, she would march her troops in full force upon Derdriu.

However, before her plans could fully take shape, she found herself patrolling the monastery grounds. A brief respite was oft required among these troubling times, for sanity's sake alone. The horrors of war would steal her from this peace soon enough. She walked to the garden gazebos, intending to scope a pleasant place to sit and ponder. Close to her destination, she spotted Leonie sitting under one of the gazebos. The other woman had her bow in her hands, evidently replacing a broken string. As Edelgard approached, Leonie stiffened and raised her head.

“Oh.” She blinked. Then she relaxed slightly. “Hey, Your Majesty. Sorry, you kind of startled me a bit.

“Did I? My apologies.” The Emperor took the chair directly across from the woman, minding the folds of her cloak. “I admit, I didn’t expect to find you in the gardens.”

“Heh, well...” Leonie rubbed her nose, appearing a bit sheepish. “I might not be the most genteel, but I got some fondness for flowers. Besides, spring is going to be upon us soon and I have to be ready to train!”

“I suppose it is.” Edelgard folded her hands in her lap. “I do appreciate your dedication. I may not say it often, but I have been impressed with your drive.”

“Uh...yeah.” Leonie winced abruptly, and ran a hand through her hair. The orange locks had grown out from the choppy cut of her youth. Now, it reached down and brushed her shoulders. “Listen...I kinda have to talk to you about that.”

“What is it?”

The woman appeared to struggle, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“When Alois left, he asked me whether I had given up my dream of being a mercenary. I told him no, but then he asked me why I stayed here at Garreg Mach. After he said that, I realized he had a point. Why had I stayed, instead of following my dream?”

“I assumed it was because of the Professor.” Edelgard replied evenly. She watched Leonie turn her bow in her hands in an anxious motion.

“That was true, at least, in the beginning. She chose you, and I felt that I had to honor her memory by doing the same. But as the years passed...that slowly changed. I wanted to do right by the Empire and you, as funny as a thought that was. You really are a good leader, you know?”

“I––” Despite her composure, the Emperor felt caught off guard. She cleared her throat before nodding. “Thank you, Leonie. I do appreciate it.”

“Ha, don’t thank me yet.” Leonie sighed, expression morphing into solemn reflection. “Look, I’ve served the Strike Force with pride and I would be content remaining that way. I was pretty happy getting that promotion, too.” She stopped to swallow hard, clenching her bow tight.

“Alois...when he told me he was going to search for Byleth, I felt ashamed. Because I gave up, not even considering if she was still out there. I thought about what Jeralt would say, knowing I just moved on with my life and not doing all I could to find her.”

“It was a difficult situation.” Edelgard averted her gaze to the sky. Dark clouds were gathering; such was the mercurial temper of nature. “We had to move forward, and we still must.”

“But Alois is––”

“Doing all he can. If you wish to join him, I will not stop you.” She stood, and looked at the other woman. The Emperor attempted a smile, hoping Leonie could read the newfound conviction she had found. “When she disappeared, I let myself become disillusioned. I told myself it was only denial; this useless hope of mine. Yet it was more and had always been. Alois is the same, I believe.”

“Your Majesty...” Leonie stood as well, her face a tapestry of conflict. Edelgard continued, cementing her point.

“I believe, one day, we will see her again. Until then, I plan to do all I can in the name of the ideals we shared. She trusted me to continue on, and so I will trust her to return to me.” She fell into a brief silence, dissecting the commoner’s expression. “Leonie, will you trust in her as well?”

Leonie blinked rapidly, eyes searching her liege’s face. Then she chuckled, slinging her bow over her shoulder.

“Heh. You know, I think I will.” The woman jerked her hand, resting her thumb against her chest. “As Captain Jeralt’s favorite apprentice, I can’t afford to slack off. When the Professor comes back, I’ll show her what I learned!”

“I think she would appreciate that.”

With a confident gait, Leonie darted out of the garden. Edelgard watched her go in silence. Then she turned to look at the darkening sky. A cold rain was fast approaching, and she did not plan to be caught within the storm. The Emperor tucked her cloak around herself before striding away.

* * *

A few days later, on the anniversary of that fated ball so long ago, The Emperor was feeling restless. Dorothea and the rest of the Strike Force were busy prepping for the coming service and celebration. It was still a few months away, but their excitement was far from deterred. A tangible aura of anticipation had begun to emanate from Garreg Mach. Last year’s feast had been a resounding success, after all. But for now winter yet remained, and the snows had reclaimed the grounds with dogged persistence. Spring would have its time to bloom, just not at present.

For some reason beyond her ken, she found herself walking up the steps to the Goddess Tower. It was nothing more than an empty ruin now, filled with ghosts and memories untouched. Countless couples, young and old, had tread these grounds. Now, no more. She wondered what her father would think of the state it was in. The place of his fondest memories...though in his last days he did not much remember anything at all. Her own recollections were bittersweet and dulled by time.

_The Professor was oddly relaxed, she _ _had thought__. Byleth’s expression _ _seemed_ _ placid, but her gaze was prying; _ _filled with_ _ more than just polite interest. _ _It was flattering as it was frightening. What did the Professor see inside her in this moment of vulnerability? _

_ Then_ _t__hey spoke of love, the first and only conversation in that vein. __They were mere steps away, yet somehow, she felt discontented._ _E__ven then, as a troubled girl unaware of the attraction that burned within her, she still wanted to be closer._

Edelgard walked to the looming window. The sun was shining upon the monastery, blazing a brilliant path along the horizon. Hopefully, the fair weather would stay. She stared into the distance, thinking of the time that had passed; slow and steady yet somehow rapid all at once. Gloucester, Dimitri’s siege, Erde...so many people lost, and so much more to lose. The blood that had been spilled, all in the name of a brighter future. Yet it would be worth it, in the end, to see the darkness banished from every corner of this world. First, it would be those who stood in the way of that progress; Leicester and Faerghus. Then, the creatures who dared feign humanity; Rhea, Thales, and every dark thing which slithered in shadow. But after the war was won, and she laid down her arms…

The Emperor felt the sun touch her skin, a welcoming warmth despite the bitter wind. Soon, the dawn would come and bring with it a light that would hopefully last for an endless age. Until that time came, she would fight without end. Idly, Edelgard mused on the significance of the current month and all that had happened in the years between.

“Five years to the day...” She murmured, voice low and soft. “If things had continued on as they were, today would have been the millennium festival…”

She felt a melancholic smile threaten to spread on her lips, but stopped as a noise caught her attention. Footsteps. Tapping an even rhythm against weathered stones. Vexed that her peace had been disturbed, she shouted to the open air.

“Halt! Who’s there?”

There wasn’t an answer. Strangely, the hair on the back of her neck rose. Her heart pounded treacherously in her chest. Edelgard turned. And then, just as it was all those years ago, the impossible became reality.

_ Somewhere in a forgotten place, scorched by flames and unyielding cold, a red rose bloomed once more._

** Next Chapter: Epilogue – The Color of Sunrise in a Garden of Crimson Flowers**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well that concludes the main meat of the story, but it's not over quite yet folks! I know many of you were hoping to see the reunion, but I'm trying to abide by canon as much as I can. You'll get to see El's thoughts tho, and I'll be taking us through the in-between moments that might have happened in CF for the epilogue. As for what happened in this chapter...well I guess it's pretty self explanatory. One thing I would like to comment on is that I love Catherine to pieces, but her blind loyalty to Rhea really sours her character. Her and Dedue have no agency outside of what their superiors want, which is an interesting character flaw in its own right. How did you guys feel about Alois? I wanted to include him since the beginning, but I concocted this little what-if instead of having him at Garreg Mach. He does say he went looking for Byleth, so I thought it fit. (I was tempted to add Shamir bec in my run she was recruited, but I couldn't separate her from her swordwife) As for the story El tells in this chapter...don't look too deeply into it lol. I just wanted a probable fairy tale that would fit the circumstance plus match the world around it. There are SOME deliberate parallels, but not many (it would have been too on the nose). The only thing I DID take outside my mind was the name Conobar. I first heard it from DA:O and really liked it, that and I believe it's a bastardization of Conchobar from the Ulster cycle which Faerghus is based partly around.  
But anyway, how did you guys feel this chapter? Did I capture El's frame of mind well? Feel free to lambaste me if not! I love hearing your guys feedback. (I love each and every one of you, seriously)  
As stated previously the Epilogue will be coming up next. I was able to get this one written up before a week passed, but my outline for the next is pretty large. It might be a week and change.  
I hope you liked the chapter! Have a great day! - AdraCat


	7. The Color of Sunrise in a Garden of Crimson Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At times the world is cold, dark, and cruel.  
And at others, it is anything but. A story of patience and love told in many parts.
> 
> Also Known as: Edelgard is stubborn, and everyone is done with it.  
Byleth takes the stage for the final act.

**Epilogue – The Color of Sunrise in a Garden of Crimson Flowers**

It was hard to describe the feelings that assailed her the moment her eyes met ethereal green. There had been fear, at first, an instinctive aversion to anything that resembled the monster who had taken so much from her. Then...there had been realization; a sweet one that stole her breath and caused her heart to leap. In one moment, the spark of hope within her ignited into an inferno; faith finally answered at last. Byleth, weary and bedraggled, but_ her_ nonetheless. Edelgard wondered what emotions had appeared on her face then. Could the woman see the years of anguish written in her skin? The guilt that plagued her; the uncertainty? Her thoughts were a chaotic tumble of restless questions. _Byleth_...w_here did you go? __Why didn’t you return sooner? __W__hy did you leave m–_

In the end it hardy mattered. Hands shaking, Edelgard had drawn her into an embrace. The lost Professor had stiffened momentarily, likely surprised, but the Emperor could not bring herself to regret it. She pressed her face to a cloaked shoulder, reaffirming that this reality was indeed true._ Finally. _Tears stung her eyes, but she refused for them to fall. Her heart whispered of joy and relief, a broken poem of love._ You’re here...at last, __my– _

Byleth’s body was solid and warm. Real. It was more than she dared to wish for. Then she recovered, unwilling to betray the tumult within. The woman’s gaze was gently concerned, but nothing further. The Professor; stoic to the last. Then there had been no time for anything else other than cold fact. So the Emperor acted as according to her station, revealing their situation in the war and all that would need to come next. Her Eagles, overjoyed and incredulous, had welcomed Byleth back with everything they had. Embraces and laughter filled the room, as did a palpable feeling of joy. Edelgard expected nothing less. Yet still...it did not quite seem enough.

“You’ve been staring at me.” Byleth’s voice was even, as always, but a question lay just under the surface. The woman looked to her, evaluating. Edelgard felt her heart ache at the familiar stare; not the same color but the same face regardless. It took her a long moment to respond.

“Forgive me…,” She trailed, halting at her tremulous tone. It was unlike her to sound so pitiful. _Yet how is one to respond, when faced with the impossible? _Edelgard cleared her throat. “Forgive me, my teacher. I suppose I’m just...shocked at this turn of events.”

“Is that so?” Byleth paused. Her eyes glanced around their surroundings. The room had emptied, leaving only the two of them to discuss the war. Edelgard was not certain it had been the wisest decision. She was already making a spectacular fool of herself. Byleth brought her eyes back up. “I thought you were handling all of this rather well. You seemed quite certain with the others.”

“I act as I must.” Edelgard forced her voice to remain strong; unbending. It took all she had not to crumble. Byleth peered at her, those haunting eyes seeing things she could not begin to fathom.

“You’ve always been strong, I suppose.” Suddenly, the other woman began to walk closer. Edelgard stilled, pulse racing, as Byleth stopped a mere pace away. Her hand flexed at her side; the desire to embrace her once more was heady. _If only__ I could hold you here forever at my side. _But she refused to be selfish any longer. One wish had already been fulfilled. Any more was just inviting greed.

“You haven’t changed much,” Byleth mused then, tone softening slightly. “Or perhaps...it’s too slight for me to tell.”

“We’ve all changed in many ways. Five years will do that.” Edelgard struggled to keep her head clear. Focus did not come easy. Not when she could nearly feel the heat of Byleth’s body. The woman’s gaze turned searching.

“I never intended to sleep that long.”

“Was it truly sleep?” Edelgard could not help asking. It sounded far more like an accusation than intended, and she regretted it immediately. Thankfully, Byleth only appeared thoughtful.

“Yes, or so I believe.” A sharp interest crossed that stern expression. “And what do you think?”

Edelgard was silent for a time. Then she spoke, words bleeding out from her scarred heart.

“I think it does not matter where you have been, only whether you intend to stay.” Courage rose in her breast, allowing her to bridge the gap momentarily. She inspected the near translucent hue of Byleth’s eyes. Strange and comforting all at once. “I know I already asked you this, but I need to make sure. The years that have passed...did they sway you away from our purpose? Or do you still believe in the world I wish to create?”

_Do you still believe in _ _ **me** _ _?_

Byleth appeared to think, the slight curve of her brow the only hint of pensiveness. Then she smiled; soft and gentle as ever.

“I chose you then, and I choose you now.” A breath, light and steady. “I think I always will.”

_Of course. How __foolish__ of me to question it._ Edelgard answered that smile with her own. She hoped Byleth could not see the tremors that lay there; the proof of devotion within her careful facade. A distant day spent with Dorothea came to mind. _The Professor only does what she wants indeed._

Byleth turned on her heel, moving towards the doors. Her gait was steadfast, just as it was five years ago. Her hair shone in the dim light, still beautiful and striking. The back of her profile was achingly familiar; a mirror of that harrowing moment when she vanished without a trace. Yet the circumstances couldn’t be more different. Waltzing into a life, rather than leaving it. _Another loss I thought I would bear until the end, and the only one __that__ ever returned whole._ As she watched her leave, Edelgard let her mask fall. The click of a latch was accompanied by a sob; painful and cathartic. Words she would not say filled the silence.

_Thank you for coming back to me._

* * *

As days passed in the monastery, the Professor fit into their lives as if she never left. Old routines were dusted off and revisited, replete with thoughtful lectures and visits with tea and treats. The woman seemed curiously unaffected by the passing of time. Perhaps to her, losing five years worth of experiences was merely an inconvenience. Edelgard was torn between feeling exasperated and fond. Her beloved teacher had always been an odd one.

Yet underneath the relief was a feeling of trepidation. She must have appeared frightfully silly, trailing after the woman as she did. Yet the Emperor could not stop herself. How many times did she wish to see Byleth patrolling these very halls once more? How _much_ time did she have _left _before this impossible dream ended? But it hadn’t as of yet, and as she watched the woman attend to her various tasks, Edelgard was beginning to suspect it never would. However, perhaps that was merely the watered seeds of hope she had sown, speaking of conviction and tentative belief.

“You seem distracted, Edie. Should I retire this kettle for now, or wait until you come out from daydreaming?” Dorothea, wrapped in curiously large fur blanket, eyed her shortly. The woman’s gaze was speculative.

“I’m hardly day-dreaming. I was merely lost in thought.” Edelgard flipped off the burner, and reached for the kettle. She spotted Dorothea rolling her eyes.

“Is that a fact? Then what was I talking about just now?”

“Hmm,” The Emperor hummed, affecting a pensive stare. “Let’s see. Something about Petra, no doubt.”

Dorothea blinked, quiet for a time. Then her mouth pursed with slight displeasure.

“Well, you’re not wrong. However, you certainly weren’t paying attention.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so predictable, Dorothea. Perhaps you should get a hobby?”

“You’re one to talk about predictable.” The songstress scoffed, and leaned back in her chair. Suddenly, her expression changed. The faint irritation melted away into something soft and concerned. “All joking aside, I _am_ worried about you. These past few days...well, it’s almost like you’re walking around in a stupor. Everyone else has noticed too.”

“Have they?” Edelgard frowned. She averted her eyes to the steam rising from the kettle spout. Then she swallowed, the action strained. “Forgive my preoccupation. Certain events have left me....drained.”

“The Professor’s return you mean?” Dorothea asked gently.

“Among other things, but yes. That would be the primary reason.” The Emperor soothed her temple. She would likely require Manuela’s salve later.

“I don’t understand why you feel that way. Of all people, shouldn’t you be ecstatic?”

“I am. Deliriously so.” Edelgard focused her line of sight out the window. A light snow had just begun to fall, cloaking the glass in spiderwebs of frost. “I have never felt such unabashed joy before. I hardly know what to do with it. And the Professor...she is just as I remember her.”

“She is, isn’t she?” At this, Dorothea chuckled lightly. Yet her gaze remained searching. “Edie, tell me the truth. What part of this am I not comprehending? Shouldn’t the joy you feel be a good thing?”

“Not if I am liable to lose it just as quickly as it was gained.” The Emperor took a shuddering breath. “There is still so much to be done. Claude, Dimitri, Rhea. By which hand will this fragile happiness be rent asunder?”

“Oh Edie...you sad fool.” Dorothea sighed, huddling amid the fur ruff of her blanket. “When will you learn to enjoy life, rather than dwell on what _might_ happen?”

“When our enemies are dead, and m..._our_ teacher remains with us. Not a moment before.”

“Not quite the romantic proclamation I was looking for.” Abruptly, Dorothea stood and smiled brightly at the far door. “My, look who it is! A surprise visitor has come our way!”

Edelgard blinked, stomach sinking as she heard footsteps come from behind her. She craned her head, and saw the fluttering sleeves of a black coat. Byleth looked at them both for a moment, eyes glittering in the dim light.

“Strange. Was it not you who sent for me, Dorothea?” The woman asked plainly. Edelgard whipped her head around, glaring daggers in her friend’s direction. Dorothea was aggravatingly nonplussed.

“Why...I suppose I did. How curious that I could have forgotten such a thing!”

“Curious. Yes.” The Emperor struggled not to betray her annoyance, and schooled her features into a calm facade. She cleared her throat. “Would you feel up to joining us, Professor? I assure you we have plenty of tea to spare.”

“Hmm.” Byleth looked around the room shortly before turning her steady gaze to Edelgard. Her expression remained carefully blank. “Only for a bit. There are still some preparations to be made for the coming battle.”

“No, no! I will not have this talk of war at tea time! I refuse it.” Dorothea beckoned Byleth with a wave. She smiled invitingly. “Now sit next to Edie. We have so much to catch up on.”

“Did we not already talk the other day? I seem to recall you pressing me for answers quite persistently.” Byleth did as Dorothea bid, and grabbed a nearby chair. She positioned herself at the Emperor’s side, black sliding against crimson for a breathless moment. Edelgard stilled, heart jumping. She scolded herself in silence, hating that she had seemingly regressed into the silly girl of her youth.

“Can you blame me? It’s not every day a person comes back from the dead. All the Eagles are practically abuzz with possibility,” Dorothea lilted.

“I wasn’t dead. I was sleeping.” Byleth poured herself a cup of tea, and took a spoonful of honey. Edelgard watched her hands as they moved; graceful and tapered. In another life, she could have been a pianist if she so chose. _Nonsensical thoughts._ Edelgard forced herself to look away.

“Where she has been is immaterial,” She interrupted stiffly. Her hand grasped her cup in a tight grip. “We are all back together. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Alright. I suppose I can drop it.” Dorothea’s mouth tilted down into a light scowl. “Well, on to lighter topics, have you seen Edie’s darling new pet, Professor?”

“Pet?” Byleth drew the word out as if it were a foreign concept. Perhaps it was, considering her past lifestyle.

“She’s a cat that Bernadetta gifted to me a couple of years ago. You likely haven’t seen her around, since Professor hates the cold,” Edelgard explained.

“Professor?”

Oh. A hot flush stole up her cheeks. She averted her gaze to her lap.

“I...named her that.” A halting pause. Then Edelgard continued, her voice a light whisper on the cold air. “In honor of you, actually.”

Byleth was quiet. Her stare turned into something analytical, as if attempting to read her face. Then she exhaled noticeably.

“...You do me a great honor.” The woman’s features did not change, but her eyes became curiously dark; shadowed by something unknown. “I would like to meet this pet of yours. Whenever we next get the chance, that is.”

“I would like that as well.”

They slid into silence, both taking sips of their tea. Across from them, Dorothea’s eyes darted. Her brows were raised, though whether with incredulity or exasperation wasn’t clear.

“The both of you are remarkably dense, you know that?”

“Pardon?” Byleth shifted her head to the side, frowning slightly.

“Dorothea loves to be needlessly difficult. Just ignore her, Professor.” Edelgard retorted, smooth as she could manage. She glowered in the songstress’ direction. Dorothea merely rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and slumped in her chair.

“That’s me, I suppose. Difficult as a fox in a hen-house.” Then she crossed her arms, appearing distinctly unimpressed. She muttered something under her breath, which Edelgard graciously chose to ignore. “These poor, sad fools.”

* * *

In a flash, the day to capture the Great Bridge of Myrddin was upon them. Claude’s soldiers were prepared, but with the Professor at their side once more it hardly mattered. Byleth was quick and shrewd, maneuvering their soldiers into place with staggering efficiency. Even the presence of Judith, the Hero of Daphnel, did nothing to deter their onslaught. The Black Eagle Strike Force cut through the enemy lines like a knife, breaking past the barricade with ease. One by one Riegan men fell under sword, axe and lance. Blood wet the stone of the Myrddin; a river to match the one they guarded.

A harsh moment came to pass as Ignatz, the first familiar face from those distant days, stood in their way. Edelgard eyed him, watching the trembling set of his hands as he pulled back his bow. Fear was in his eyes, but so was conviction. He would not let them pass without a fight. Then, he was cast to the ground by a javelin through the heart. Leonie swooped below and hovered over his prone form. Her expression was solemn; a thousand regrets seen in that amber stare. But then she steeled herself, and flew away in the direction of the fleeing Daphnel. Edelgard took a steadying breath and followed.

The legendary woman was sent to her knees by an arrow to the back, courtesy of a waiting Petra. Judith shouted a curse, tumbling to the unforgiving earth. Byleth encroached upon her, the flexing length of her sword shining gold and red. Judith stared up at her, face bloody. Then she smiled; sad and knowing. With a vicious slice, Byleth beheaded the proud lord. In an instant, the Hero of Daphnel was no more.

It was a resounding victory, but the Emperor had not expected any different. Their Professor was an indomitable force of nature; hardly human in her brilliance. With her talent, and Edelgard’s forces, Leicester had become nothing more than a moderate annoyance. Now the Great Bridge of Myrddin was theirs to use. Soon, the Aquatic City of Derdriu would fall to their might as well; and so would the Sovereign Duke. _I’m coming for you Claude. _She thought of Gloucester, and seethed. _We’ll not fall for your schemes again._

With their business concluded, the Black Eagles took their leave and started the journey back to Garreg Mach. For a few days, they remained rather sedate. Seeing a softhearted boy such as Ignatz killed on the field, was a sobering reminder of war’s cruelty. Leonie had been particularly morose, avoiding many of them for days. It was only after a fishing session with Byleth and Alois, did the woman begin to regain her positive attitude. Whatever was said, neither parties revealed. Edelgard had asked Byleth out of curiosity, but her teacher merely uttered a non-committal response.

“I said only what she needed to hear,” Was what she eventually revealed. The Emperor was content to leave the matter alone, for the time being. The woman was allowed her secrets, much as it irritated her.

The week after the fall of Myrddin, Edelgard found herself walking from the greenhouse with Tiny Professor in tow. The cat, whose name had been slightly reevaluated, was swaddled comfortably in her woolen sweater and trotted languidly at her heels. The weather was sunny for a change, and the recent snowfall had melted swiftly, so her dear furry friend was happy indeed. Edelgard stopped as Tiny Professor suddenly yowled. The cat tucked herself between the Emperor’s legs.

“It would seem she doesn’t like me.” Byleth strode up to them, mouth tilted into a slight smile. Her mossy gaze focused upon the bristling animal. “A pity. I always liked cats.”

“I didn’t know that.” Edelgard blinked, a little taken aback by her appearance. She gathered herself quickly. “You never showed any preference to the monastery strays.”

“I love animals. Sadly, the same could not be said for them.” Byleth ran a distracted hand through her hair. The color shone pale and luminescent in the light of day. “They have never been partial to me. Even my father’s horse couldn’t stand to be near me at times. It’s out of courtesy I avoid them, rather than a lack of fondness.”

“How odd. I wonder why that would be...” Edelgard pursed her lips. Rhea’s hidden journal came to mind, bearing all manner of dark secrets. She hoped such knowledge would not need to come to light.

“Who can say?” Byleth’s attention strayed, and interest alighted in that sharp stare. “Those flowers...are you planning to give them to someone?”

“What?” Edelgard looked down at her hands, suddenly aware of the bouquet of hydrangeas clasped between her fingers. Heat flooded up her neck as mortification spread. “I...no, actually. I was just planning to visit the graveyard.”

“The graveyard...” Byleth’s expression darkened slightly. The line of her jaw tensed, a telling action for the typically detached woman. “I see. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” Edelgard attempted to smile, but anxiety likely turned it into a reluctant grimace. She swallowed her discomfort down along with her troubled thoughts. At her feet, Tiny Professor leaned her head out warily.

“Then shall we?”

As they journeyed to the cathedral grounds, the silence that fell over them was pleasant. Byleth’s presence was comforting, as was the sight of her lean frame. Strong and unwavering; unchanged from the woman she had been so long ago. Edelgard wanted to tell her as much, but she kept the words buried within. She did not wish to trouble her with her foolish musings. Tiny Professor slowly regained her courage as they walked, daring to pass Byleth with a swish of her tail. The cat kept a keen eye, however, careful not to stray too far from her master.

The graveyard had changed the least over the years. It was well kept, tidy and free of pesky weeds. The Eisner plot was especially meticulous, if surrounded by petals of startling cobalt blue. She saw the exact moment when realization bloomed upon Byleth’s face. The woman halted, eyes widening slightly. Edelgard’s embarrassment returned two-fold, and she averted her gaze to the stone slab. Tiny Professor curled her body against the headstone.

“These flowers…,” Byleth began, voice soft. “You’ve been putting them on my parents’ grave?”

“Yes.” Edelgard turned her back and bent to set down the new bouquet. She felt the heat of Byleth’s stare upon her neck.

“Why?” The woman’s tone was frank, cutting in a way she likely did not intend. It was a fair question; one Edelgard did not know how to answer. She shook her head and watched as bright petals drifted in the wind.

“At first...it was because I wanted to make amends.” The Emperor placed her hand upon the stone. It was cold under her hand. “I was not involved in Kronya’s scheme, nor did I have knowledge if it. Yet I still felt responsible in a way.”

Byleth said nothing, but she stepped closer. Edelgard heard the woman eventually stop at her side. Throat working, she forced herself to continue.

“Then, it was because I thought maybe you rested here as well. An impossible wish, perhaps, but I took heart in it.” She struggled, voice losing much of its strength. “Are you familiar with the language of flowers?”

“I can’t say I am,” The other woman replied. It was hard to tell what she was thinking. Did she see her for the sentimental fool that she was?_ Do you possibly see this __useless__ affection of mine? _Edelgard closed her eyes as a cold breeze swept past. It cooled her heated skin.

“I don’t claim to be well-learned on the subject, but my mother...she used to keep hydrangeas in her garden. This same, perfect blue…” _Like your eyes, once upon a time._ “She told me they were meant to express regret. An apology said without words to give. I felt it fitting, considering all that had happened.”

“Regret...” Byleth sighed suddenly, an uncharacteristic noise. The woman shifted on her heels. “Edelgard, I never blamed you for what happened. I thought you understood that.”

“You mistake me. These weren’t meant as penance for your father. Not entirely.” Finally, the Emperor rose back on her feet. She kept her gaze downcast, however, unwilling to turn and face the older woman. “When you disappeared, I felt responsible. It was for my ideals that you died at Rhea’s hand, or so I convinced myself. Even now, with you standing behind me alive and well, that guilt lingers.”

The bouquet rustled in the breeze, and few petals fell from the stems.

“I desperately wanted you to know how I felt. So I came to place these flowers over the years.” Edelgard straightened, mouth uncomfortably dry. Her limbs felt leaden. “This must seem silly to you. Forgive me––”

“Edelgard.” Byleth spoke suddenly. Her tone was firm; uncompromising. “Turn around. Please.”

Uncertain, and more than a little startled, the Emperor did as she was commanded. She faced the other woman, and met her eyes. Byleth’s face was unreadable as ever, gaze even and steady. Yet something else was there too, a sense of understanding lying beneath the pale of her iris. Just as it did on that day in the Holy Tomb.

Byleth said nothing further. Instead, she reached forward and took Edelgard’s hand within her own. The Emperor was frozen by the abrupt action, and her fingers began to tremble. Her teacher was kind enough not to mention it. Then, without looking away, Byleth brought Edelgard’s hand up to rest along her cheek. The woman pressed their hands together, keeping to soft skin.

She was warm, Edelgard thought idly. Even through her gloves, she could feel the proof of life under her touch. But perhaps that was only due to the cold winter air. Her heart raced, undone for this harrowing moment. Byleth held her gaze, and finally spoke again.

“You didn’t kill me. I’m here, and I’m alive.” A weighty pause came and went. “And even if I had perished, I made my choice. My death would not be your burden to bear.”

“Yes...I think I see that now.” Edelgard forced her hand to stop shaking. Her thumb lingered just at the edge of Byleth’s lips. The woman did not seem to mind. “It took me a long time before I understood what you meant that day. Forgive your slow student.”

Byleth smiled then; soft and slow, as was her wont.

“Do you wish to change your answer, Edelgard?”

She searched her Professor’s eyes. Clear and bright as spring. Winter held no place within that gaze. Edelgard wished she could say the same. An impulse to draw her into a fierce embrace nearly overcame her, but she buried it under a somber chuckle. Edelgard let her hand fall back down to her side. It felt cold suddenly; empty.

“Not yet, but I may be convinced in time.”

Tiny Professor crept out from the grass and hesitantly rubbed against Byleth’s heels.

* * *

In the end, the City of Derdriu fell just as easily as the Myrddin. It was clear that Claude’s forces were not as they should be, likely attending to the crisis on the coast. She would have to thank Count Ordelia when all was said and done. As a result, the capitol was undermanned to a crippling degree. The arrival of the Almyran general Nader had proved troublesome initially, but the man could not hold back the Imperial tide. His forces were rapidly dispatched and the man himself was forced to retreat from the field. Nader the Undefeated, overcome at last. So it was that Hilda and Claude von Reigan remained.

Edelgard had expected the man to have one last trick of his sleeve, but curiously he did not. He merely smiled, glib and unconcerned as ever, and asked for mercy. Byleth, brandishing the Sword of the Creator to his neck, had stared at him for a prolonged instance. Then she backed away, nodding her ascent. The Emperor wanted to protest, of course. The man had been a constant annoyance over the past five years, but she allowed the concession. If her suspicions about his heritage held true, it was best to keep him alive. For the time being.

With a few parting words, and after a particularly aggravating conversation, Claude made his escape. Hilda begrudgingly followed, though not without glaring at the Black Eagles from afar. She glowered at Lysithea and Leonie most of all. The ashen-haired woman was blithely unaffected, even sending her own vicious looks in return. The latter just shrugged limply, still bearing the weight of Ignatz’s death. Some things could only be disposed of with time.

And so another moon drew to a close, as did the chapter of Leicester's brief independence. Within one battle, the Empire had finally reclaimed a lost part of its territory, and the Roundtable would soon be dissolved. The nobility would have to revised for this to work effectively, but they would have little choice in the matter. For now, they would be allowed to remain as they were. The Emperor could not afford a brewing revolution, not when the threat of Faerghus and the Church still loomed.

A few days into the Pegasus moon, Edelgard was sequestered in her study. She had called Petra to join her, diligently imparting the mission the woman would be tending to. Yet the Brigid princess seemed distracted, as if in a daze. The Emperor had to call her more than once to get her attention.

“Ah! Many apologies, Your Majesty!” The woman bowed once, grimacing. “I was not meaning to ignore you, I swear.”

“Don’t fret, Petra. I’m hardly offended.” Edelgard rolled up her map, and tucked it beneath her arm. She glanced at the princess, brow furrowed. “But I must ask, what exactly has you so out of sorts?”

“It is nothing that should be concerning.” Petra rubbed her neck, appearing uncomfortable. She stared somewhere over Edelgard’s shoulder. “Um...actually, I did have questioning for you.”

“Oh?” The Emperor leaned her hand on the table, brow raised. Petra often did not seek her council, and the rare occasions it happened were usually innocuous. A translation clarification, or some such. Yet the gleam of worry in her light brown eyes seemed to suggest something more serious.

“I do not know if you are knowing this, but Dorothea has become a great friend to me. More than I thought was being possible.” Petra bit her lip, fidgeting. “I...well...I hope to possibly court her in the ways of Fόdlan.”

“That is a surprise. Not overly so, mind. Anyone can see you hold affection for each other,” Edelgard mused, relaxing her posture. This was why Petra was concerned? _My, my Dorothea...your love is a hunter indeed._

“I have much relief.” The other woman sighed, mouth stretching into a small grin. “But I am a stranger to how Fόdlan people express their...er, effect?”

“Affections,” Edelgard corrected. She smiled at the woman patiently. “I think you have done quite admirably from what she’s told me. The blanket in particular was a nice touch.”

“Yes.” Petra’s features softened, as did her smile. “She has made her approval known. But I still wish to know how to properly say the words. What other gesture might I be doing?”

“Hmm. Dorothea is partial to sweeping romantic gestures. Perhaps a candlelight dinner in the dining hall? I could pull some strings to clear everyone out for the night.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t feel enough.” Petra shook her head, averting her gaze to the table. Her mouth slanted into a frown. “Out of the curiosity...what gesture would someone like you be liking?”

“Pardon?” Edelgard blinked. She had not anticipated the subject turning to her. Petra merely shrugged, gaze straying back to perplexed lavender.

“If someone was to be courting you, what gestures might you be liking? I ask because you and Dorothea are much the same.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re similar in so many words.”

“No?” Petra cocked her head; strangely interested. “Dorothea said that you’re a romantic. She is also one. I think she would be liking the same gestures as you.”

“I...suppose you’re not wrong.” Edelgard exhaled sharply, before relenting. “Alright, in a purely hypothetical scenario in which someone _was_ courting me; I would enjoy something personal.”

“Personal?”

“Meaning something important to the two parties involved. Such as a shared experience or objects that bring you together. Like the blanket you gave Dorothea, or the songs she sings to you.”

“You are knowing about that?” Petra suddenly flushed, the color complimenting her dusky skin. Edelgard gave her a pointed look.

“I think everyone in the Strike Force is aware. She’s not subtle...or quiet.”

“Maybe not, but I love her voice,” The princess admitted sheepishly.

“Then you have your answer. Perhaps she would enjoy a serenade. Such a sappy gesture would be certain to catch her attention.”

“I see!” Petra brightened, eyes gleaming with excitement. “You were much helpful, Edelgard! I will be trying this ef...affections shortly.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck.” Edelgard smiled at her again, amused by the whole thing. Dorothea was sure to be walking on air soon. It was lovely to see the two women finally coming together. Still, even as happy as she was for her friends, a feeling of envy remained. Her selfishness truly was endless. _Be happy for them, you self-pitying fool. Dare not reach for things __not meant for you__. _She barely noticed as Petra exited the room, leaving her to her own thoughts.

* * *

_Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying. _Edelgard stalked the monastery grounds, the hour growing late and the wind shrieking around her. Her steps were fast and irritated; a harsh frown carved across her features. A few days ago, she had made the painful mistake of leaving her personal effects out on top of her desk. A grave miscalculation as it turned out. Byleth, curious like the cat who bore her moniker, had easily spotted her painful attempt at capturing the woman’s visage. It had been an idle doodle, made with the intent of someday painting that stunning profile. The Professor had not been shy in expressing her interest, much to Edelgard's embarrassment. She could hardly let the woman see such a shoddy attempt. Truly, this infatuation would end up being her undoing.

The only way to correct this was to seek help of a professional sort. Well, as professional one could be among barracks of soldiers and mercenaries. It was for that purpose that she stood in front of Bernadetta’s door. She was concerned at first that the other woman would not answer, but her worries turned to be for naught. The nervous archer answered shortly after the first knock, head barely peeking from her room.

“Y-Your Majesty?” Bernadetta opened her door a bit more, shock plainly displayed on her face.

“Bernadetta,” Edelgard greeted her with a nod. “Might I have a moment of your time please?”

“Er...” The woman stole a glance behind her quickly. She clasped her door with anxious fingers. “Not that I mind, but um...why exactly?”

“There is something I need that only you can help me with. A matter of utmost importance.”

“Wait. Really?!” Bernadetta’s eyes widened to dinner plates. “Th-then come on in! Um, don’t mind the mess. I was just doing some cleaning.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. If memory serves, you keep your things remarkably organized.” With those words Edelgard was ushered through the door, Bernadetta trailing behind her. To her astonishment, the woman’s room was draped in paper. Sheets upon sheets of it littered both the bedding and the floor. The desk was similarly covered, the only difference being a trash container full of crumpled material. A lone book sat next to her knitting supplies, open and dog-eared. Edelgard turned back to Bernadetta.

“...May I ask what happened here?”

“Uh, well.” Bernadetta offered a tremulous smile. “I’m just writing some things...you know, mulling over ideas and what not. Nothing of interest to you! I promise!”

“Alright.” The Emperor decided to ignore the woman’s odd mannerisms. Bernadetta had proven to be a steadfast friend, for all her nervous energy. She would leave the other woman to her idiosyncrasies, whatever they may involve. “Disregarding that, I do have a favor I would like to ask of you.”

“Uh...yeah, go ahead.” Bernadetta's eyes moved around the room, before focusing on something near the back wall. Edelgard felt her brow furrow.

“I can always come back if this is a bad time.”

“No!” The archer refocused her attention back to her liege, paling a bit. “You’re fine! I’m fine! Everything is fine!”

“If you insist.” Edelgard stared at her, confusion deepening. Had the woman eaten something suspect? No matter, she would think upon this at a later date. “Anyway, I was hoping you could teach me how to paint, or at least to draw somewhat decently. Sadly, my studies never included the finer arts.”

“You too?!” Bernadetta blurted. Then she balked and covered her mouth with both hands.

“...Too?”

“I can teach you,” The archer cut in quickly, as flighty as a jackrabbit. Her shoulders were hunched, and her hands wrung on front of her. “I, uh, just need to finish something. Then we can begin lessons, if you want?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Edelgard smiled gently. “I do appreciate this, Bernadetta. You would be helping me a great deal.”

“Uh-huh.” Bernadetta looked away again, sweat beading on her brow. The Emperor frowned at her inattention.

“What do you keep looking at?”

“Absolutely nothing,” The woman squeaked, voice nearly shrill. It was unconvincing as it was suspicious. Edelgard craned her head to peer behind her, but a jarring pull stopped her. With deceptively strong hands, Bernadetta rushed her back out into the night. Edelgard nearly tripped across the threshold.

“Bernadetta, what in the Empire’s name––”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty!” Bernadetta practically shouted. Panic was plastered across her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for your art lesson. Goodbye!”

Then with a slam of the door, Edelgard was left in silence. She stared at the wood, simultaneously shocked and bemused. Perhaps a consultation with Manuela was needed concerning the squirrelly woman. Such erratic behavior could not be normal, even for Bernadetta. Edelgard shook her head and decided to put the events out of her mind.

She had gotten what she asked for, after all. The way back to her quarters was filled with thoughts of impressing Byleth with her new found talents. A bold wish, but when was love ever not? Perchance it was futile, but Edelgard had always been a dedicated student. _Even if I cannot say it...I wish to show you in some small wa__y. _

It would have to be enough, for now.

* * *

“Who will win do you think?”

“If it’s a matter of skill...the Professor undoubtedly.”

“Edie, I’m asking you as a matter of good faith. Not for you to declare your obsession for all to hear.”

Edelgard glared at the woman next to her. Dorothea answering grin was cheeky and full, stare carefully focused on the two combatants in the training circle. Byleth, training sword in hand, waited patiently for Petra to make her move. For a moment, all was still. Then, like a leopard rushing its prey, Petra struck. She was fast and bold, blade whirling as she tried to open Byleth’s guard. By contrast, the Professor remained on the defensive, using her sword to parry rather than riposte. They traded blows like the seasoned warriors they were. Slash. Step. Guard. And repeat. It appeared more like a choreographed dance than training, and their spectators watched with rapt intent. Suddenly, Byleth sidestepped and caught the seam of Petra’s leg with the flat of her blade. The princess tumbled before falling on her back, blinking up at the sky.

“Again,” Byleth ordered simply. She leaned her sword along her shoulder and waited for Petra to rise. The Brigid royal grinned and leapt to her feet, determination burning. Edelgard’s attention shifted as Dorothea sighed.

“My, they do make that look rather easy don’t they? I could watch them for hours.”

“Now who’s spouting their fantasies to the air?” Edelgard scoffed. The other woman just offered her a peeved glance.

“Am I not allowed to admire their skill in warfare?”

“I highly doubt their skill is what you’re admiring.”

Dorothea laughed then, gaily and not abashed in the least.

“Oh Edie, I do believe you have me found out! But is there any harm in admiring the finer form? I think not.” She bumped the Emperor with her shoulder companionably. “You should be a little more honest, you know. I can see where your line of sight lay, and it certainly isn’t focused on our dear Professor’s footwork.”

“Must you needle me so blatantly,” Edelgard scolded her, bristling slightly. “If you had it your way, the entire monastery would be aware of how pathetic I am.”

“Love is never pathetic. Nor is it the frightful burden you are so keen to depict it as.” Dorothea sighed airily. “It can leave you grounded, yes, but it can also give you wings.”

“Not if you’re a flightless bird. In that instance, wings are just an unnecessary adornment.”

“Edie, if I was given a piece of gold for every sad thing that ever came out of your mouth, why I could buy out the whole of Fόdlan!” Dorothea huffed and stared at her friend with sour reproach. She tapped her foot on the ground. “You’re so eager to play the role of martyr that you ignore the happiness right at your feet.”

“I _am_ happy, thank you.” Edelgard pursed her lips, looking back to the sparring duo. Petra was taking a more conservative approach. As a result, she was faring far better for it. Byleth attempted to swipe her leg again, and the princess avoided the blow deftly. “Why exactly are you trying to press this? Was it not a year ago when you were doing the same as I, content with your relationship as it was?”

“Yes, but that was then.” The songstress’ expression lightened to wistful. “And perhaps...certain circumstances have changed.”

“Is that so?” Edelgard allowed herself to relax, glad for the change in subject. “Has your royal beau fallen for your charms at last?”

“So it would seem.” Dorothea giggled, a faint blush to her cheeks. “She asked me to go with her to Brigid actually. Then, she took me to the gardens and serenaded me with a traditional love song of her people. Oh Edie...it was so beautiful. I fear I may die from the romanticism of it all.”

“Try not to expire before the wedding vows are said. I have the perfect dress picked for your ceremony and nothing for a funeral.” Edelgard remarked as dryly as she could manage. Dorothea mimed a scoff, but her glittering eyes betrayed her.

“It will be difficult, but I will muster on admirably.” The woman flipped her dark hair with a flourish, smile bright as the sun overhead. She eyed her emperor with faint appraisal. “Though I must say, Edie, you are taking this rather well. I had thought you would be a bit more astonished.”

“I will admit to some prior knowledge on my part.” Edelgard admitted, meeting her friend’s curious gaze. She smiled in remembrance of Petra’s visit earlier in the month. “Petra came to me seeking advice not too long ago. I might have offered some pearls of wisdom.”

“Then I shouldn’t have worried.” Dorothea sighed, shoulders losing a bit of tension. She turned her sights to the fluid form of Petra. “I am sorry for keeping it from you for so long, Edie. To be honest, I just wanted to enjoy this wonderful turn of events by myself for a bit. I was afraid if I spoke it aloud everything would have turned out to be just a pleasant dream.”

“A few days or so is hardly a long time,” The Emperor replied, a tad bemused. Her expression fell as Dorothea looked at her, clearly puzzled.

“A few days? Petra took me aside just before we attacked the Myrddin. You must be remembering wrong.”

“She did?” Edelgard drew back, searching her friend’s eyes. Verdant green showed only light consternation, nothing to suggest a jape of any kind. Dorothea was many things, but a liar was not one of them. But if Petra had indeed already told Dorothea of her feelings...why had she sought her council? Was it merely to confirm her affections or rather––

She jumped, startling as a harsh clang sounded from the arena. A training sword had been flung to the far wall, jostling a barrel of iron spears. In the center of the grounds, Petra lay on her back once more; panting from exertion. Byleth stood above her, victorious, but smiling gently. The older woman reached out and extended her hand.

“A good match, Petra. You have improved greatly since the academy.”

“Thank you, Professor!” Petra practically beamed at the praise, and took Byleth’s hand in a firm grip. She was swiftly pulled to her feet. “I have had much training in the years. Felix has been wonderful to be learning from.”

“Hmm. So that’s where you learned that last move. Interesting.”

Edelgard watched, fond and yearning, as Byleth patted her opponent’s arm.

“Try not to take on his bad habits, however. While skilled, he favors an aggressive style that might not suit your own.”

“I will be keeping this in mind.” Petra nodded, grin never fading. Suddenly, she turned on her heel, and favored Dorothea with a broad wave. The songstress returned the gesture, free hand clasped over her heart.

“Oh these handsome women of ours…,” Dorothea mused, gaze thoroughly soppy. “What shall we do with them, I wonder?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion.” Edelgard’s eyes drifted past the princess, and focused upon the lean form of their Professor. To her surprise, Byleth was watching her in return. Her expression was unreadable, eyes a pane of glass shielding any onlooker from peering deeper. Then the woman raised her chin, an abrupt edge to her posture.

“Edelgard,” Byleth called, voice even and firm. “Would you care to face me next?”

The Emperor stared at her, not expecting the challenge in the slightest. When it was clear that the woman was quite serious, she nodded faintly. She was not ignorant to the eager looks Dorothea threw her way.

“I would be happy to, my teacher,” Edelgard said. She forced away her frazzled nerves. Byleth tilted her head to the side and nodded. Her lips twitched slightly, but that might have been from the bustling wind.

“Very well. Shall we use axes, or swords? Your decision.”

“Swords, if you please. I haven’t honed my blade work in quite some time.” Edelgard chose a light and balanced training sword, thinner than the longsword her teacher favored. Usually, she enjoyed weight and heft in her weapons, but Byleth’s skill was too great for her to triumph by such means. She would need to rely on speed and flexibility to score a win. Content with her inspection, Edelgard took a stance across from the woman.

There was a period of silence as they observed each other’s form. Then, quick as lightning, they clashed. Byleth attempted to strike first, but the Emperor was prepared. She lunged forward and ducked into the blow, sliding her own blade up to crest against the Professor’s. She twisted her wrist, and soon the longer sword was swept to the side. Byleth retreated back a step, eyebrow raised.

“You’ve been sparring with Felix too, I see.”

“Kind of you to notice.” Edelgard twirled the wooden blade and then extended it towards the other woman. While she may not be well versed in affairs of the heart, warfare was as natural to her as breathing. Amid blood and steel, she was in her element. Byleth seemed to note her confidence, and she straightened in response.

“Then I will not hold back. Try to keep pace, Your Majesty.” Without warning the woman encroached upon her like a wolf, relentless and vicious. She slashed her sword in quick succession, forcing Edelgard onto the defensive. She moved backward, minding her steps, and struggled to parry each fierce blow. Byleth was being true to her word, it appeared. The woman opened up her guard with an upwards slash, and Edelgard watched as she pulled her arm back to issue a piercing thrust. Thinking quickly, the Emperor bowed low and tackled the woman to the ground.

They fell to the arena floor in a pile of limbs and practice blades. Dimly, she thought she could hear Dorothea laughing in the background, but her mind was too scattered to process it. Edelgard pulled herself to her elbows. Below her, Byleth was staring in frank disbelief; mouth open slightly and eyes wide. It was the most unraveled she had ever seen the woman look. Edelgard hurried to bring her sword up to the woman’s neck, hoping her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. She cleared her throat.

“My win.”

Byleth blinked. Then she made an amused noise deep in her throat. Her pale eyes appeared to shine with mirth.

“So it seems, but you forget Edelgard...” With a great heave, Byleth used her legs as leverage and reversed their positions. Edelgard huffed, stunned as her back was forced into the dirt. Her blade was tipped back, no longer pressed to the Professor’s throat. The woman looked down at her, undaunted. “Victory comes only when one person surrenders. And I am not someone who cedes defeat.”

“Then we are at an impasse.” Edelgard peered into Byleth’s eyes, their faces closer than they had ever been. The woman’s weight was comforting above her, warm and solid. Light green locks fell over their faces, blanketing them. She breathed in and could scent exertion and something far more sweet. All the while, her heart repeated the same words it longed to say. Love, in all its horrible complexity. _Do you hear it? Do you even want to?_ Edelgard swallowed, hand trembling upon her sword.

Byleth stilled suddenly, an odd gleam shining in that usually unaffected gaze. The woman leaned in and the training blade nicked her throat lightly. Edelgard could only watch, stunned. A thin river of blood trailed down a pale neck.

“Hmm. It seems first blood has been drawn.” Byleth stood and dusted off her coat. “A fine ploy, Edelgard. I had not expected such crafty tactics from you. Well done.”

“I...thank you, Professor.” The Emperor slowly crawled to her feet, shaken. Her breaths came fast, as if she could not quite fill her lungs with enough air. “Though I cannot say it was purposeful. I reacted instinctively more than anything.”

“In the heat of battle, instinct is all we have.” Byleth crossed her arms, black sleeves fluttering behind her. She held Edelgard’s eyes with pointed weight. “At times, our body is more honest than our mind. It helps to listen to it, every now and then.”

“I bet!” Dorothea suddenly appeared next to them, Petra just behind her. The songstress was grinning cheekily. “My body got a work out just watching you two. I could feel the sparks flying from way over there, in fact. Truly _riveting_.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Edelgard muttered wryly. Her eyes narrowed upon her friend. Dorothea smirked, far from concerned with her liege’s censure. The Emperor shook her head before glancing back at Byleth. “Thank you for the spar, Professor. It was...certainly a learning experience.”

“It was, wasn’t it.” Byleth said the words bluntly, without any hint of a question. She stared at Edelgard, prying; as if in search of something. Then the woman bowed at the waist. “Come find me again, sometime. There was an opening in your guard we should work on fixing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, my teacher.” With a final glower in Dorothea’s smug direction, Edelgard took her leave of the training grounds. Her gait was stiff with repressed embarrassment. It was beginning to become a bad habit when interacting with the Professor. How was Byleth meant to take her seriously when she was constantly falling all over herself in the woman’s presence? Edelgard would have to think on her ludicrous behavior in the future.

Yet she could not help her thoughts from turning to that last moment, Byleth hovering over her carefully and a blade pressed to a bared neck. She thought of blood soaking into a white collar, a contradiction of words said mere seconds before. Byleth had surrendered to her in that moment. Significant? Or just…

Edelgard forced her head to clear and told herself it meant nothing. It was safer that way.

* * *

At the end of the Pegasus Moon, the Central Church finally struck Garreg Mach in full force. A platoon of wyverns flooded the sky, headed by Seteth himself. The man flew them to the monastery gates, attempting to corner the Eagles within the walls of their fortress. To Edelgard’s surprise, Flayn had joined him in this assault. The girl, or so she appeared, had taken her own soldiers and tried to flank the monastery’s eastern barricade. Thankfully, Ingrid and her fliers were swift and merciless. They derailed the trap before it could be sprung, and forced Flayn from the field. The girl retreated as quietly as she came and soon vanished without an evident trace.

As for Seteth, he fought valiantly. The man was a strange mix of enraged and remorseful, made even more evident as he came face to face with Byleth. Edelgard had observed their encounter from afar, holding the gate line from enemy approach. As she cut down a fleeing mage, the Emperor watched as Seteth’s wyvern was torn from the sky. Byleth stood over him, and they exchanged words. What was said, Edelgard could not say. Then, in a brilliant flash of light, Seteth disappeared. Spared, it would seem, just as Claude had been.

The Professor was far too kind, in her opinion. Especially if they returned to Rhea’s side. However, when they convened to discuss the ambush after the fact, Edelgard could not bring herself to disparage the decision. She trusted her teacher, and knew the woman’s judgment was usually sound. As for the other members of the Strike Force, they were bolstered by the victory. The Church was their greatest foe, Faerghus not withstanding, and they knew this would weaken Rhea’s forces immeasurably.

Yet their triumph did not come without grave cost. Among the dead that day was the steadfast Ladislava, rent in twain by a group of archers. And then there was Caspar’s uncle, Randolph. The man had held on admirably to the last, blood leaking from his side and chest caved. He had stared up at his Emperor almost serenely, smiling in the face of certain death. Then he stilled, and all was quiet.

After, Caspar had gathered him up in his arms. Face wet and arms shaking, he brought the man’s body to his sister. The girl, Fleche, had been inconsolable; aggrieved at losing her brother. It was hard to witness, but Edelgard dared not look away. She would never dream of ignoring their sacrifice; Ladislava and Randolph would not be forgotten. Their names would be engraved in history, glory achieved upon the blood they willingly spilt. The Service to the Fallen would see to that.

In the wake of all this tragedy, Edelgard chanced a walk to the gardens. Spring had blossomed in full, and the roses were welcoming in their serenity. Such a place was far from the horrible reality of war. As she entered through the gate, she spotted a shock of white hair in the distance. It was Lysithea, kneeling below a hedge. The young woman’s face was scrunched up, as if in pain. Edelgard approached her quickly, concerned.

“Lysithea?” She called, frowning. “Are you quite alright?”

“Huh?” The other woman jumped a bit, shoulders tensing. Then she looked up and met the Emperor’s stare. “Oh, Edelgard. Can I help you with something?”

“I believe I asked you first.” Edelgard looked down at her, growing more perplexed. She took in the younger woman’s appearance. Lysithea’s robe was edged with earth, and her hands were marred by thin lines of red around the tips. Rose petals lay at her knees. “...Are you trying to pluck them? You know the greenhouse would be happy to grow them for you.”

“That wouldn’t work.” The woman huffed before leaning back onto her hands. She plucked at the grass petulantly. “Linhardt said the roses needed to be wild. Something about nature and other technical babble I didn’t bother to understand.”

“Linhardt?” Edelgard asked, brow quirked. “He’s the one who put you up to this? Why?”

“He’s been trying to solve my problem.” Lysithea glanced to the Emperor meaningfully. “You know the one.”

“Ah.” Gathering up her cloak, Edelgard sat beside the other woman. She crossed her legs casually. “I assume he’s working on a cure then.”

“He’s trying to. Whether he succeeds...” Silver hair ruffled as Lysithea lifted her shoulders. “Well, we’ll see I guess. I’m not holding my breath.”

“You don’t seem pleased by this. I thought you would jump at the opportunity.”

“I’m happy Linhardt’s trying, and he did make some good points that I didn’t consider. He told me I didn’t have to settle for less than a full life.” Despite her words, the young woman’s expression was downcast. A dark shadow ringed her eyes. “But after everything with Ladislava and Randolph...I can’t help but feel selfish. I’m alive and well, and yet I still want more.”

Edelgard stared at her for a long moment. Then she nodded faintly, her own melancholy surfacing.

“I can understand that logic. Death is frightening in of itself, but to come suddenly...” She trailed off, thinking of the many losses she had suffered. Most of them, without notice or warning. A cut deeper than the inevitable. “It’s a very different thing to experience. Still, we cannot help wanting to live as long as possible.”

“Maybe,” Lysithea grumbled. The set of her mouth was stubborn; tight. “They were kind to me, you know. Both of them. They never looked down on me for my age, or thought my appearance was odd. Especially Ladislava. I just...I...”

Tears fell from her eyes, and she wiped them away with a huff.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty. It’s childish of me to be acting like this.”

“You’re human, Lysithea. And one of the most mature people I know.” Edelgard hesitantly patted her back, consoling. “You shouldn’t be afraid to reach for something you want so desperately. Life only comes once, and we must make the most of it.”

“Yeah...” Lysithea choked a bit, and swept her sleeve across her face. “I think...I’m going to try. I want to live as long as I can...for me, and for them.”

“You will find a way, I have no doubt.” Edelgard leaned away and smiled gently. A droplet of water fell on her nose, catching her attention. Suddenly, she spotted a gathering of clouds overhead. Dark and looming ever closer. A downpour was coming soon. “Shall we head inside, for now? We can always come back once the weather clears.”

“Okay. I think that would be for the best.” Lysithea rose with a light sigh. Her pink gaze stayed upon the Emperor for a time. “...Edelgard?”

“Yes?”

“You should take your own advice, you know. About living, that is.” Lysithea grinned, small and somewhat wistful. “Perhaps we’re the same, or perhaps not, but I think you could afford to be selfish sometimes. That’s just my take on it.”

Then, without a backwards look, she walked away. Edelgard stared after her dully, stunned despite herself. She exhaled though her nose and got back to her feet. The nerve of that girl. She meant well, of course. All of her Eagles did, but they were far too bold in their assertions. It made her wonder if everyone could see what lay in her heart. It was a galling notion, one she refused to think on any further. A faint sensation of heat warmed her brow. Edelgard looked up and saw a beam of sunshine split through the clouds.

* * *

“Are we ready to move on Arianrhod?”

Hubert raised his head, thinking for a moment. Then he nodded shortly.

“Preparations are complete, for now, and the Strike Force has been assembled. They are eager to take the fight to Kingdom lands.”

“That is more than I can ask for.” Edelgard massaged her brow. Tensions had been high in the past few days, and it had been hard to keep her composure. Taking Arianrhod was a vital step in her plan. Of course, her exact reason for that was a secret carefully kept close to the chest. Only Hubert knew the true purpose behind the siege. “Do we have eyes on the Lord Regent?”

“Not at present, though I don’t believe he has gotten wind of our movements as of yet.” Hubert scowled darkly. “If he does...we can root out his agents at the same time as Cornelia.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. I trust the Strike Force, and Byleth would never ally with Thales willingly.”

“I have no doubt.” The man paused, taking in her features in silence. “If I may, Your Majesty, it has not gone without notice that the Professor’s return has changed you. Significantly, so.”

“Changed?” Edelgard cut her eyes to him sharply. Her mouth dried. “By what do you mean by that?”

“I meant no offense, Lady Edelgard.” Hubert smirked at her, knowing and sly. “But it can be hard to ignore the titter of birds and mice when they are underfoot. And they have been whispering of some _interesting_ things indeed.”

“Ignore them. Especially if their name is Dorothea.” The Emperor waved him off with a discontented scowl. She tried not to let him see her unease. Hubert merely hummed, and laced his fingers together.

“Perhaps...but she was not the only one to take notice. I myself, have gleaned some observations of note. I am sure the list does not end there.”

“...And do you disapprove, Hubert?” She met his lime gaze, chest tight. The man did not respond as she expected. Rather than expressing distaste or disapproval, he smiled. Genuinely and without his characteristic malice.

“I told you once before that I would never disregard the pain you feel. Yet in the wake of her...disappearance, I expressed confusion at your inability to process it. Now, I see why, and I finally understand.” He fell into a momentary silence. Then he bowed, deeper than he ever had. “I was too harsh in my judgment of her at first, but she has proven herself loyal to you. To that end, I approve.”

“I am grateful for the sentiment.” Edelgard averted her gaze to the war table. Tiny Professor was sleeping soundly on the wood, her chest rising steadily. Underneath her furry form was a large map of Fόdlan, tail flicking past Almyra and Morfis. The Emperor traced a hand along the creased paper, before resting on Fhirdiad. “But even if she accepted my affections, there is still too much that is unknown. Anything can happen, to anyone. Until this war is over, I am determined to keep this to myself.”

“Then as your loyal servant, I will support you in that endeavor.” Hubert cocked his head, appearing vaguely dissatisfied. “However, should you take too long...perhaps I will take measures into my own hands.”

Edelgard jerked her head up, aghast and horrified.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Who can say?” He pushed back his raven colored bangs, smirking.

“Hubert, I will say this only once. Do _not_ tell the Prof––”

Tiny Professor suddenly raised her head and mewled. Then, as if summoned by the animal’s call, Byleth walked through the doors of the war room. The woman stopped just past the threshold, eyeing Hubert and Edelgard speculatively.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Not in the slightest, Professor.” Hubert gave another bow, his expression aggravatingly superior. He sent his liege one last pointed glance. “I bid the both of you a good day.”

Then, in a whirl of fine black robes, the man was gone. She stared after him, wishing she could wring his neck. Or at least smack that contented look off his face. He might have been her oldest friend and ally, but such cheek could not be ignored. Byleth stepped to her side, and peered down at Tiny Professor. The animal meowed impatiently, claws extended. A firm scratch behind her ears and the ornery beast settled down into a limp puddle.

“I think she’s warmed up to me,” Byleth mused. “Fergus was never this friendly.”

“Fergus?” Edelgard repeated the name, still caught off guard. She gathered her wits quickly. The last thing she wanted was for the woman to think of her as dull.

“My father’s horse.” Byleth rubbed one of Tiny Professor’s ears and the cat purred deeply. The woman’s mouth twitched up. “We had a dog when I was younger, too. But my father had to get rid of him. The life of a mercenary didn’t suit keeping...pets.”

“Why do you keep saying it like that?” Edelgard leaned in, eager to learn more about the woman she so admired. Byleth’s expression grew distant, likely in thought.

“Because I’m not certain it would be the best word to use.” She took her hand back. Tiny Professor yowled in protest, not happy with the loss of her new friend. Byleth smiled gently down at the cat. “Fergus was a war horse. A tool, in a way. My father was fond of him, but he was quite clear that the animal was not a friend by any means. The dog he owned was the same, bred for warfare rather than a domestic household. He told me I should not get attached.”

“That sounds like an unnecessarily harsh lesson.”

“Perhaps, but it made sense to me. If Fergus fell, my father would not shed a tear. And so neither would I.” Byleth’s mouth pursed into a harsh line, even as her eyes remained placid. “Men fell on the field daily. People, animals...for years I had seen so much death that it was as familiar to me as breathing.”

“You had a hard childhood, then.” Edelgard reached out, tentative, and rested her fingers along the woman’s arm. Byleth did not shrug her off, much to her relief. Her teacher took a quick breath.

“You’re wrong in that. It wasn’t hard, or I thought it wasn’t.” Long fingers brushed through mossy green hair. Eyes of a similar color darkened to sea-foam. “Truthfully, I never gave much thought to it. My father killed, and so I killed. For coin, or just to survive. It wasn’t until I came to Garreg Mach that I realized how strange that was.”

“Why do you think that is?” The Emperor asked, hesitant. Once again her thoughts strayed to the book hidden in her desk. Just one more deception she could not betray. Byleth looked at her then, open and slightly conflicted.

“...It didn’t feel real, in a way. Like a dream seen through a shattered mirror.” The woman gazed at her, countless emotions passing seamlessly yet not quite igniting into a blaze. A kiln without fuel to burn. “It was an empty life. I see that now. But it was only after I started teaching that I realized it. And for once, I could see where my life began and the dream ended. Yet there had been one precise moment in particular...would you like to know?”

Edelgard nodded faintly, not trusting her voice in this fragile moment in time. She felt her heart lurch as Byleth traced a hand down her cheek. It was a light touch, a butterfly’s caress. Yet it cut as deep as glass, and seared every inch of her body.

“You were standing before me, facing down the sword I had raised. The look in your eyes was both sad...and resigned.” Byleth’s voice softened. “You didn’t think I would choose you. I could see it. You believed I would cut you down.”

“I did.” Edelgard swallowed, willing her breath to remain even. Her eyes stung, but she blinked and forced the sensation away.

“I see.” The other woman took a step back, dropping her hand. Edelgard despaired at the loss of it. “...That was the moment.”

“What?” Edelgard murmured, dazed.

Byleth smiled again. It was painful in its beauty.

“When I woke up.”

* * *

Conquering the Silver Maiden was more difficult than felling the Alliance had been. While Claude’s forces had been distracted and ultimately unable to defend their city, the great fortress of Arianrhod did not have such troubles. Lord Rodrigue was a skilled warrior and a competent tactician in his own right. The ensuing conflict had been bloody and difficult. A fact exacerbated by Cornelia’s mechanical nightmares. But the Black Eagles were an indomitable force, and their own strategist was as brilliant as she was savage. Byleth weaved in and out of the enemy line, cleaving limb and bone in a macabre waltz. Edelgard joined her in the fray eagerly. They matched and anticipated each other as if it was meant to be that way all along. Equal halves, conquering everything in their way.

But then, a tense moment stole over the field as father and son met once more. Lord Fraldarius stared at Felix like a ghost. What he saw in the younger man’s face no one could say. Then Felix thrust his sword through his father’s chest and all was still. He walked away, blood running down skin and steel. After, there was only the judgment of Cornelia to tend to. Edelgard would not let this creature be spared. She used the relic Thales gifted her to sever the woman’s head clean from her shoulders. A sweet irony that filled her with spiteful satisfaction. _One monster slain. __The first of many._

Finally, Arianrhod was theirs. Except Thales was a petty creature, and one could not simply dispose of his toys. He had arrived just hours after they returned to Garreg Mach, teeth clenched and lip curled. Her dark mentor was far from pleased. Edelgard could feel it in the way he had stared at her, enraged and filled with malice. Then, as quickly as he appeared, Thales was gone. But so was Arianrhod; obliterated by javelins of light. One last insult made to threaten her into submission.

Yet that craven snake was a darkness she had long since cast aside, and the light of her world had replaced him with ease. Byleth had looked at her softly in the aftermath; as if she could sense the direction of her thoughts. Even Thales could not ruin what she had felt then. Her heart continued to whisper its broken poem, repeating between each rose that sprouted amidst ashes. Those Who Slithered would have their due. Just not as of yet. Until then, she would bask in the sun; free from their towering shadow.

With the events of Arianrhod behind them, morale picked up steadily once more. The obliteration of the indomitable Silver maiden had proved galvanizing. If any lingering regret remained in the former devout of the Central Church, it was washed away swiftly. Her men became quite emphatic in their desire to fell the duplicitous Lady Rhea. Of course, the truth of what happened would never be revealed among them. They need not know of Thales and his treachery. It was better to spur them into action by Rhea’s supposed wrath alone.She was concerned, at first, that Byleth would want to be forthcoming with the other Eagles. Her worries were for naught however, and the woman let her take the lead without complaint.

The Service to the Fallen had been postponed due to the mission, but was soon enacted the day after. They sang, voices high and spirits buoyed. Surprisingly, Byleth joined her at the congregations head. Of course, this also meant the woman’s name in question would not be mentioned that year, a fact many caught on to fairly quickly. Many of the soldiers, who had only known the woman as she was currently, were stunned by the fact she was the infamous Professor of the Black Eagles. Byleth sat through their questions admirably enough; humoring the awestruck Imperials. As promised, Ladislava and Randolph were given a proper send off. The Emperor offered what she could to Fleche, but the young woman denied any boon.

“My brother served you with pride,” Fleche had stated, eyes blazing with determination. “And so shall I!”

It was a wish Edelgard could not refuse. Soon the Service drew to a close, and the dead could finally rest as peace. Then the greatly anticipated feast was upon them. Dorothea eagerly planned the event with zeal, managing to drag their Professor into the festivities. It was, after all, a dual celebration in her honor. Byleth had not complained, such was her dispassionate way of living, and obliged. It was not quite the elaborate affair of last year; the battles in Leicester and the subsequent siege of Arianrhod had stolen much of their time and resources. However, the soldiers did not appear to mind. The feast was a simple affair of breads, desserts, and various kinds of fish; which were helpfully provided by Byleth herself.

Soon, the reception hall was crowded with nobleman and commoner alike. Edelgard watched from a corner as people turned on the tiles and spoke among each other. Her Eagles mingled with them, their expressions noticeably brighter than the year previous. The Professor’s influence no doubt. Byleth was in the midst of humoring Hanneman's lunacy by the looks of it. It was a comical scene, due to the man gesticulating wildly to a cake and her teacher’s bland interest. Edelgard smiled as Byleth shook her head and Hanneman visibly slumped.

“He’s really stuck on this, isn’t he?” Dorothea sidled next to her, cradling a thin flute of champagne. She sipped on it lightly. “You think he would have learned his lesson from last year. Manuela was in near hysterics over his ridiculous theories.”

“I think he’s trying to find another great passion other than crest research.” The Emperor watched as Byleth was dragged to the dance floor by Caspar. Envy lapped at her like fire, and she attempted to smother it. She failed and her lips pursed in displeasure. “Once the war is over and my reforms are implemented, I imagine crests will fade into obscurity. More than they already have.”

“I suppose you’re right,” The songstress hummed with gentle humor.Dorothea’s brows rose as her attention was evidently snared. “My...the Professor is more adept at dancing than I would have thought. She’s practically running circles around poor Caspar. A wonderful surprise, isn’t it Edie?”

“It does make a strange sort of sense. Fighting is similar to dancing in some respects.” Byleth whirled around the general, movements as graceful as a swan. Caspar’s face was delighted and he tried bravely to match her. The ensuing tango became a chaotic affair of twisting spins and cutting steps. Edelgard looked away from Byleth, struggling to keep her gaze somewhere else. After a valiant few minutes, she chanced another glimpse. Her self-control was rather shattered at present. She noticed Dorothea grinning slyly.

“You know, Edie, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you so distracted. Would you like to share something with the class, as our dear Professor would say?”

“Smug is a poor look for you, Dorothea.” Edelgard strained to seem unaffected by the jibe. The other woman was not dissuaded.

“As jealousy is for you!” The songstress laughed, nudging her friend against the shoulder. Edelgard would have scolded anyone else for the presumed familiarity, and Dorothea was quite aware of that fact. “Come now, Edie. Surely you’re not concerned about _Caspar_ stealing your love away. I adore the man, mind you, but he’s hardly a worthy contender.”

“Take care not to say anything further on the subject.” Edelgard murmured the words; aggravated. She clenched her teeth together unpleasantly. “Listening ears need not know of my foolishness.”

“Love is inherently foolish.” Dorothea nodded sagely. She appraised the Emperor with a long stare. “But that does not mean it isn’t rewarding, or worth it. You should be proud, Edie. The woman you love is worthy indeed.”

“The woman I love does not return such bothersome affections.” Edelgard spied Ferdinand approach her teacher for the next dance. He bowed with a flourish, and Byleth returned the gesture with a slight dip. The woman was popular tonight. _A very inconvenient fact._ She grabbed a glass of wine from a passing servant. “And I’m not jealous in the slightest, I will have you know.”

“Denial again, Edie? Must we revisit this?” Dorothea pouted. “Honestly, you’re so stubborn. Any dullard could tell she feels the same. It was obvious five years ago, and it’s obvious now.”

“Did you just call me a dullard?”

“I say it with love, of course.”

“Quite.” Edelgard exhaled through her nose. She drank deep, the taste sharp on her tongue. “It’s been five years, Dorothea. Whatever you_ think_ you saw back then, hardly means anything now.”

“You forget, my friend, that I have experience in this sort of thing. After years in the opera, I can pinpoint the difference between requited and unrequited love with the utmost efficiency.” Dorothea’s gaze turned soft; sympathetic. “Oh Edie...don’t you see? Fate has granted you this second chance, just like Princess Aisling. Don’t let this opportunity go to waste.”

“I am content with what fate has already brought me. I dare not grasp for more.” The Emperor turned her head, catching the glossy whirl of Byleth’s hair. The woman was not smiling, exactly, but her expression was plainly at ease. Her eyes sparked in the candlelight’s glow. Edelgard ached at the sight. It was everything she had dearly wished to see for five years. “She’s alive, and so I am fulfilled.”

“You really _are_ a romantic. To the point of self-sabotage, sadly.” Dorothea huffed, sounding irritated. “But if you insist, I shall not meddle. I’ll content myself with watching this sad display of idiocy until it reaches the inevitable climax.”

“Thank you, Dorothea. Your confidence is appreciated.” Edelgard took another sip, tone dry.

“I think I’m going to find Petra. My darling love is far less morose.” The songstress scowled playfully, but her eyes betrayed worry. She leaned in and lightly squeezed the Emperor’s arm. “Do try and enjoy yourself, Edie. Ask her for a dance at the very least.”

Then she left, walking towards the feast table where Petra had absconded herself. Edelgard watched as they smiled at each other; a mutual display of tenderness. How lovely it must be, to feel so confident in another person’s feelings. _Such bitterness does not become you._ She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple.

Dorothea had been right. She _was_ acting morose. Far more than an Emperor should around her soldiers and closest allies. It didn’t matter who Byleth preferred to spend her time with. The woman was free to do as she wished. Yet even as she told herself that, her selfish wants reared their miserable head. Byleth had already made far too many concessions in her name. Abiding by the whimsy of a besotted Emperor was not something the woman had planned for. Surely not.

Yet emotion did not succumb under logic, and her ire only flared with each dance Byleth participated in. Unwilling to torture herself any longer, Edelgard made her way to the sweets table. Sugar was a calming influence she found. Curiously, Lysithea was not scavenging through the treats at present. A certain former Knight was, however. The big man was munching through a slice of pie like a ravenous animal, his mustache askew with filling. He raised his head as she approached, eyes bright.

“Edelgard!” He hailed her with his fork. “A fine spread we have here, eh? And even finer company!”

“Alois.” Edelgard nodded, and eyed his garb. He had decided to doff his mercenary plate in favor of the gleaming armor of his past these last few months. Most likely in honor of recent events. Alois had nearly sobbed with joy when he saw Byleth again, and taken the lost Eisner in a fierce hug. Suffice to say, he planned to stay at Garreg Mach for the foreseeable future. Edelgard’s gaze moved to the empty pie tins behind him. “...Does that group of yours really feed you so little?”

“Ha! You would think so!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His smile was wide and infectious. “Thing is, once you live the life of a mercenary, you grow to appreciate a hot meal when it’s offered. I’m sure Byleth would agree!”

“I suppose she would.” She forced herself not to look at the dancing couples. “Speaking of which, have you had a chance to talk at length?”

“We did. Even told her about the time I spent searching.” Alois chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with fond remembrance. “She looked caught off guard a bit. A great feat considering she takes after her father. Jeralt didn’t like expressing himself either!”

“Did she say anything further on the topic?”

“Hmm. Not exactly. She did look somewhat distant after. Kind of sad too, I think.” Alois shrugged mightily then, and took a heroic stance. “But I told her she shouldn’t worry! I don’t regret my search, especially when I had been right all along. I told you, Your Majesty, my gut never lies!”

“Some things are beyond comprehension.” Edelgard set aside her glass. She smiled genuinely, without the pain that typically accompanied thoughts of her teacher. The gaping wound in her heart was nearly mended, leaving behind only the scars of memory. “I must thank you, Alois. Without your words that day...I think adjusting to her presence again would have been far more difficult.”

“It’s good to know that an old man like me can still give words of wisdom!” The man laughed heartily. Edelgard opened her mouth to comment, but a sudden tap along her shoulder surprised her. Somewhat annoyed, the Emperor spun around. Sylvain, cheeky grin in place, bowed deeply.

“Greetings, Your Majesty. Fancy a turn with the devastatingly handsome, soon-to-be Margrave Gautier?”

She blinked, annoyance lightening into unimpressed boredom. His flirtations had become somewhat stale in recent days rather than just irksome.

“You seem awfully sure of that post. What makes you think I will be allowing you to keep that title?”

“So cold.” Sylvain smirked, eyes glittering with humor. Something calculated lay underneath the amusement. “But I was serious, honest! Come on, just one dance and I’ll leave you alone.”

“You’re overstepping your bounds _former_ soon-to-be Margrave Gautier.”

“And you need to over_step_ a little more.”

Behind her, she heard Alois stifle a bark of laughter at the pun. Edelgard crossed her arms.

“Sylvain, must you continue this charade? Whatever madness has taken hold of you, I beg you to ignore it. I’ll not be dancing with anyone.”

“Just one dance, and I promise to not flirt with you ever again,” The man replied, tossing his hair. She looked at him for a prolonged moment. Her brow rose.

“...Ever?”

“Ever.”

It was a tempting offer. One which she was loath to refuse and balked at accepting. Finally, after a period of extended deliberation on her part, Edelgard agreed; though not without great reluctance.

“Fine. One dance, and take care not to stray your hands. I will not hesitate to break them if the need arises.”

“I couldn’t be happier.” Sylvain smirked, triumphant. Then he dragged her over to the floor, seemingly in a rush. Why he was so pleased over the prospect she couldn’t say. The man had never expressed any serious interest in her beyond harmless compliments. In her periphery, she noticed the gliding form of Byleth. The Professor was leading Dorothea in an elegant sway, both keeping tempo with ease. The songstress was saying something, but from the din she could not make out the words. Edelgard frowned. Suddenly, Sylvain twirled her. She glared heatedly at him once the rotation ended. He shrugged, blatantly disregarding the venom in her eyes.

“You need to relax, Your Majesty. Didn’t those fancy Imperial tutors teach you how to dance?”

“I am a more than competent dancer, Sir Gautier. I taught your former King, in fact.” Edelgard wrinkled her nose as he started to laugh. “Does that really amuse you?”

“Oh man! That was you? Wow...” Sylvain tapered into a chuckle. He spun her once more, with a little more daring. “Say, you didn’t happen to receive a dagger from him, did you?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” She bit the words out darkly, not in the mood to entertain that particular memory.

“That’s a yes, right? I’m going to take that as a yes.” His lips twitched. “Well, I guess the world really is a small place.” Abruptly, russet eyes darted somewhere to their left. She eyed him with growing suspicion.

“Have you grown bored of me already, Sylvain? If so, please let me go so I can attend to more important matters.”

“I’m hurt, Your Majesty. Are you saying you don’t find my company charming?” Sylvain’s ensuing grin was crafty, appearing akin to Tiny Professor after hunting a mouse. The comparison was disturbing, and strangely appropriate.

“I don’t find dancing with you particularly enjoyable, no.”

“I’m offended!” Sylvain’s smile grew, accompanied by another quick turn. He stilled in the middle of the floor, as if in anticipation. “Well if that’s how you feel, maybe I should give you to someone you _do_ find charming.”

_What?_ Edelgard’s mouth slanted in confusion. She did not get the chance to question him further as the man sent her into another dizzying spin. To her surprise, strong hands caught her in a firm grip. They were soft and warm, feeling nothing like Sylvain's. Edelgard tilted her head up and peered straight into pale green._ I am going to kill that meddling fool._

“Edelgard.” Byleth looked down at her, gaze searching. Edelgard stared at her numbly, voice stolen away. Her heart pounded in a staccato rhythm; panicked and uncertain. She did not know what to say. Thankfully, her teacher did not share this issue. The woman leaned back and bowed at the waist. Then she reached out her hand.

“Would you care to dance?”

Edelgard could only nod, stunned into mute disbelief. Byleth smiled then; small and patient as ever. She took her hand, and slowly began to lead them across the tiles. Callouses marred the tips of bare fingers, proof of the woman’s dedication to warfare. They rubbed gently against Edelgard’s gloves. The heat under each finger was a comforting reminder of her vitality. Byleth, alive and so very beautiful, danced with her as they were born for it. Edelgard felt her breath catch; her body betraying the love she so desperately wanted to admit.

“You’re awfully quiet.” The other woman tilted her head slightly. Her gaze was shrewd, prying past every layer of affected calm. It took all she had not to shiver under that stare. “Did you not want to dance, after all? Dorothea made it perfectly clear I should ask you.”

_Ah, and so the mastermind of this plot has been revealed. _Edelgard cleared her throat, hoping her teacher could not read her growing irritation. Behind her dance partner’s shoulder, she spotted Ferdinand and Caspar shaking each other’s hands. Just beyond them, Dorothea watched by Petra’s side, waggling her fingers in the Emperor’s direction. Her meddlesome Eagles would have to be dealt with at a later time. Resigned, Edelgard looked back into her teacher’s face.

“Forgive me, Professor. I’m merely...surprised. I never took you for a proficient dancer.”

“Byleth.”

Edelgard drew back a little, startled.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are allowed to use my name, if you wish.” The woman paused, appearing to think. Her expression was oddly vacant. “The title of Professor is rather moot, since the academy is no more. It feels...peculiar, that you all insist on calling me that.”

“I didn’t realize it bothered you.”

Byleth shook her head, gaze refocusing back onto Edelgard.

“That would be the wrong word for it. I don’t mind, I just believe it’s no longer applicable. You aren’t students anymore.” She fell into contemplative silence, and a shadow passed through mossy eyes. It might have been a trick of the light, but a brief tinge of regret appeared on those fair features. “I was wrong before. Everyone has grown up splendidly. You most of all, I believe.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. At least, not more than the others.” Edelgard averted her eyes, suddenly discomforted. She swallowed hard. “I’ve made mistakes in the time since you’ve been away. Had you been here...I’m sure they could have been avoided.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.” Byleth remained non-committal, though the line of her jaw looked tense. Edelgard summoned her courage, and met that direct stare again. She forced herself not to stumble as Byleth drew her close for a sedate turn. Edelgard’s voice was firm as she said the next few words.

“However, that no longer matters. You’re here with us now.”

“I am.” Byleth’s expression did not change, but her voice softened. “And I have no intention of leaving you again.”

Heat flooded her cheeks and the Emperor bowed her head. Suddenly she felt like the young girl she once was, just discovering her burgeoning attraction to the woman before her. _Or perhaps just a silly fool in love. _Even as time passed, some things stayed the same. She pressed her cheek to Byleth’s shoulder. It was an intimate action, one her former teacher did not chastise her for. The implicit acceptance made her bold.

“Pr...Byleth?”

“Yes?”

In the background, the orchestral number ended. Couples parted and weaved round them. She paid them no heed, content where she was.

“...May I have the next dance?”

Finally, Byleth smiled; wider than she had ever seen.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

* * *

It was raining, cold and harsh as the world around them. Edelgard blinked away the water that cascaded down her face. She stared down at the man before her. Dimitri, gaunt and broken, who raged at her with teeth bared and reason bled from his shattered mind. His eyes were glazed with dark, unmentionable things; an abyssal desperation that she could not break through. Years ago, she stood above him just like this. Edelgard had spared him then, unable to tear away the parts of her that still loved him. _My brother. The only one __left alive__...and the only one I cannot keep. _

Yet there would be no grace for King Dimitri Blaiddyd. He had carved his path, as she had hers. There wasn’t a way for this to end happily. No choice made that could have prevented this. Her hands trembled upon Aymr, the name given to the grisly weapon Thales had forged. It’s namesake had been an Imperial hero of legend. A man forced to kill his own brother who had been trapped in the guise of a dragon. The irony did not escape her. She raised the axe high above his golden head. Dimitri did not look away. His rage ebbed and dissipated, leaving only a strange sort of calm. He looked like Lambert in that moment, strong and noble as he was always meant to be.

_Forgive me._

Then the axe fell, and she was finally alone. She barely knew what happened next. Rhea had long since fled the field, leaving her savior to face a miserable end. The rest of the Kingdom soldiers were routed, and the ruined bodies of Mercedes and Dedue bore the proof of that. Hearts heavy, the Black Eagles journeyed back to Garreg Mach. As soon as they arrived, Edelgard sequestered herself in her quarters. The Emperor refused to face anyone for now. She did not want them to see the grief written so plainly upon her face; the broken remnants of a wish she had desperately tried to smother.

_What more must I lose? How much will you continue to take from me?_ The Goddess was cruel as she was silent, offering nothing in the way of answers. Edelgard buried her face into her pillow, shoulders shaking. Tiny Professor meowed gently, before curling into her side. For a long while they rested just like that, Edelgard not moving or speaking. Then, after an unknown amount of time, a knock came from her door.

Tiny Professor lifted her head, nose twitching. Sighing heavily, Edelgard forced herself to rise. Even in the midst of her sorrow, she could not let the Empire’s matters fall to the wayside. There would be time later to grieve. She opened the door reluctantly, only to still as she saw Byleth. The woman’s expression was calm, but her mouth was cast into a light frown.

“Edelgard.” Byleth said her name like a prayer, soft and contemplative. Her gaze was steady. Edelgard could not meet those frank eyes, and she kept her own near the woman’s jaw.

“Profess...Byleth.” She made a faint noise of exasperation. Habits were hard things to break. Even more so when emotions were running high. Edelgard straightened her posture, attempting to appear unaffected. “Can I help you?”

“I had a quick question...if you do not mind answering.” Byleth looked at her patiently, waiting for her response. Edelgard bit her lip, uncertain she was in the frame of mind to entertain company. But she could never refuse her teacher anything, especially when she seemed so earnest. Taking a deep breath, she allowed Byleth to enter.

“Of course.”

Once the woman was inside, Edelgard shut the door with a firm click. She turned and watched as Byleth’s gaze roamed around the small space. Finally, her eyes caught on the cat eyeing her keenly from the bedding. The woman’s lips turned up slightly.

“I didn’t realize you were retiring for the night.” Byleth shifted on her heel, and leaned against the lone desk. Edelgard feigned a smile, but it was painfully tight; edged with discomfort.

“Just resting I’m afraid. The day was...” She paused, trying to decide what word to use. “...Trying, you could say.”

“That it was.” Byleth brushed a lock of her hair from her brow. She held the Emperor’s gaze for a prolonged period. “Regarding what happened, I was curious about something Dimitri mentioned.”

“Oh.” Edelgard looked away then, chest throbbing. She struggled not to reveal how much the words had shaken her. Byleth did not need to see how frail she really was. Edelgard tried to keep her voice even as she spoke. “I can manage a few answers, I suppose. You are owed more than a few considering everything.”

“I’ll not force you, Edelgard.” Byleth did not scowl, but her frown was deep enough for it. “You owe me nothing.”

Edelgard could not help the strained laughter that escaped her then. She broke it off, and smiled without humor.

“I owe you more than I could say, but I digress.” The Emperor waved her hand and strode over to her bed. She sat and ran her fingers through a shiny black coat of fur. Tiny Professor purred into her hand. “I assume you want to know why he accused me of matricide.”

“Among other things, but yes.” Byleth walked away from the desk, and stopped just a few paces away. Her tone lacked any hint of censure, bearing only the intent to understand. Edelgard relaxed slightly.

“I doubt you’re aware of this, but our families are actually tied by marriage. My mother married King Lambert when we were children.” Edelgard stared at her hands, unseeing. “I lived in the Kingdom, for a little while, until eventually Lord Arundel brought me back to the Empire.”

“So you were siblings,” Byleth stated, eyes brightening with the clarification. Edelgard nodded. She balled her hands into fists.

“Only by marriage, but I loved him just the same. What child wouldn’t enjoy a new playmate? Though at the time, I don’t think he ever made that connection between us. Dimitri had been remarkably oblivious when he was younger.” She thought of a boy with fair hair who clumsily stepped on her feet. Dimitri had not been amused by her constant corrections, though he had been awed by her knowledge.

_“_ _El, the sun’s going down!” He had complained, pouting like the _ _innocent_ _ child he was. “I really oughta be heading home.”_

_Stop thinking about that._ Edelgard lifted her head. “I wanted to stay with them; with all of them. But I couldn’t leave my father, and my ‘uncle’ would not have me stay. So I left and never returned. Years later, the Tragedy of Duscur took them all away permanently.”

“Not Dimitri.” Byleth joined her on the bed, careful not to jostle the resting feline beside her. Edelgard tilted her head in a meager acknowledgment.

“Perhaps not physically, but the incident changed him. He had allowed himself to be manipulated, and focused the majority of blame upon me. Today...you saw the result of that.” Edelgard held her breath, trying to contain the rising swell of pain in her breast. “Now Dimitri truly is gone. And he died, never knowing the truth.”

“That may be so, but...” Byleth carefully placed her hand atop the Emperor’s. They laced together, resting in a crimson clad lap. It was a daring gesture Edelgard had not expected, and she stiffened. Yet she refused to pull away, unwilling to tear herself from the gentle touch.

“I think, at the end, he finally found peace.”

Edelgard stared at her, taking in those words. She recalled the look in Dimitri’s face in that last, fateful moment. The shadows had fled from his eyes and his body had relaxed. As if he had expected this all along. A seeker of answers finally finding something greater. Then, in death, all the pain he had held in life had melted away. That night, long after Byleth had departed, Edelgard had a dream.

_ It was summer, bright and everlasting. The sun was at its zenith, and not a trace of clouds could be seen on the horizon. On a lone hill, far in the distance, a man and a woman stood with clasped hands. Edelgard watched as a boy with golden hair rushed to meet the couple, throwing himself in their embrace. They smiled before turning to face her. The boy looked at her fondly and whispered, words carried on the wind._

_“_ _Goodbye, El.”_

She woke with an answer on her lips, something wet trailing down her cheek.

“Goodbye, Dimitri.”

* * *

A week had passed since that tragic day on the Tailtean Plains, and life at Garreg Mach slowly returned to normal. The Emperor had gathered her spirits commendably, regaining her characteristic focus. Soon the events that had taken place would become a distant memory, leaving only scar tissue in its wake. However, before they could recover in full, the looming threat of Rhea and the Church needed to be dealt with. Now that the King of Faerghus had fallen, the only logical place for the Archbishop to flee to was the capitol. Fhirdiad would be the next to fall, and from there the Immaculate One could no longer hide behind towers of stone. The beast would be forced to show itself; then the true fight could begin.

As plans were beginning to solidify, Byleth took her aside one day. Apparently, most of the Strike Force had expressed concern that the Emperor was overworking herself. Edelgard could only roll her eyes, discreetly of course. Her meddling friends were not subtle. Still, she did not refuse her teacher and decided to obey her request. The woman then brought her to the gazebos, and slowly prepared a kettle. Edelgard watched her hands move fluidly, never second-guessing placement or effort. It was startling how graceful Byleth could be, even when off the battlefield. In a flash, the tea was prepared and poured into cups of sparkling glass.

Edelgard took a sip, smiling as the flavor of Bergamot washed over her tongue.

“You remembered.”

Byleth stilled, in the process of mixing honey into her cup. Then she continued, lips upturned in apparent amusement.

“I think you forget that time passed a bit differently for me.” The older woman set aside her spoon before folding her hands under her chin. “Five years for you, yes, but for me it only felt like a long nap.”

“You were lucky then.” Edelgard leaned heavily in her seat, and crossed her legs. “Many of those years were quite unpleasant.”

“How so?”

The Emperor shot her an unimpressed glare.

“Well, you were gone for one.” Edelgard bit her cheek, forcing her tone to remain conversational. She wasn’t quite certain she succeeded. “We certainly could have used your guidance in those first few years. It was..._difficult_ without you. We lost many people, more than I believe we would have if you were leading my armies.”

“I see.” Byleth’s voice lowered slightly, as if in contemplation. Edelgard ventured on.

“Two, the entirety of Fόdlan absolutely refused to negotiate and took the word of a monster above mine. Even Claude, whom I had never seen express fealty to Rhea, ignored my attempts at parley. He held the Alliance in a vice grip until recently, so Houses which _could_ have supported the Empire were denied that right.” Edelgard’s lip curled at the memory.

“...And you’re mostly aware what happened with Dimitri. From the moment the war began, he offered safe harbor to that creature. Perhaps if she, and others, had not been filling his head with nonsense things could have ended differently.”

Byleth said nothing, only sipping on her tea. Edelgard paused to do the same.

“Three, my father died a miserable death; wasted to skin and bone. He was barely coherent at the end of his days, and I had to hear him wax poetic about my mother.”

Byleth’s brow furrowed, and Edelgard quickly elaborated.

“He confused his first wife with her, mumbling about marriage and children like a madman. Do you know how difficult that was? To hear him mistake my mother for the barren shrew he had married? It was intolerable. One last insult to the woman my mother was.” Edelgard set her tea down hard, and the table shook.

“Four, horrible atrocities were committed in the name of Seiros and her believers. The Western and Central Church attacked and retaliated against each other which resulted in hundreds of innocent––”

“I’m sorry.”

Edelgard blinked. She turned her gaze to Byleth, whose face was oddly pensive. A shadow passed across her normally composed features.

“I didn’t say it before, but I do feel terribly about leaving you. All of you.” A muscle in Byleth’s jaw flexed, hard and aggravated.

“You hardly left on purpose, my teacher.” Edelgard looked to her, concern replacing her stringent tone. She attempted a reassuring smile, but Byleth was unmoved.

“You suffered greatly, and I wasn’t here. The pain you went through; the trials you experienced...I wasn’t here for any of it. I feel I can never atone for that.”

“There isn’t anything to atone for. You cannot help what happened back then,” Edelgard insisted. Her teacher did not appear convinced.

“Perhaps. Yet I still feel responsible.” The woman exhaled sharply. “When I see all of you, so much older and wiser than you were, I feel proud. But mixed with that is also sorrow. You’re adults now, and it is hard for me to process.”

“Professor...”

“Don’t call me that.” Byleth drew back stiffly. Her voice was rougher than she could ever recall it being. Then she flexed her hands on the table, and took a deep breath. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

Edelgard watched her with fascination. Had she ever seen the woman so emotional before? What had inspired this sudden change? She spoke tentatively after a brief pause.

“Byleth, is there something else that’s troubling you? Other than the obvious, that is?”

The former teacher was silent; her gaze distant and unfocused. Then her hands uncurled.

“It just occurred to me the other day, that the end is coming. Much faster than I would have thought.” Byleth's eyes were lidded and her brow furrowed. “I do not know where life will lead us, or if we will even survive this coming battle. And the more I thought on that...I realized I was scared.”

“Of death?” Edelgard asked softly.

“I’m not sure.” A wind blew past the woman, sending her hair floating. She looked like a bird in flight, staring at the ground with inevitable weight. “I’ve never been afraid of dying. There wasn’t a point to it. Either I fall, or I do not. But as I lived in the academy and slowly got to know you all...suddenly I was very afraid.”

Byleth raised her head.

“I wasn’t lying before. My life felt like an endless dream; living but not quite. Then I saw you, and suddenly I was no longer asleep. I wanted to be there for you and I wanted...” Her voice lost its strength, and her words faded. “I don’t know how to say it, or what this all means. All I know is that I cannot stand the thought of leaving you. Once was enough.”

“Then...” Edelgard swallowed and set her tea aside. She leaned forward, letting her fingertips touch the edge of Byleth’s. “Will you promise to stay by my side?”

The woman did not move for a long moment. Suddenly, she offered a smile, but it was faint and somehow sad.

“For as long as I am allowed, I will stay.” They held each other’s gaze. Then, Byleth averted her eyes. “Forgive me, Edelgard. The Strike Force meant for this tea break to relax you. Not to provide a convenient excuse for me to vent my frustrations.”

“Actually, I enjoyed seeing behind your calm facade.” The Emperor took back her hand reluctantly. She felt a tinge of heat color her skin. “Sometimes, I wonder if the rest of us can possibly reach you. Too often you seem so distant. As if there is a gap between us I cannot close.”

Edelgard struggled with the next words, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts. Byleth waited patiently as she always did. The woman would never press her. After a time, the Emperor finally knew what to say.

“I enjoy spending time with you, no matter the circumstance or the topic at hand. I consider you a dear friend, and I hope you can say the same.” She captured her lip with her teeth, anxiety building. “But I am often unsure of how you feel, or what you’re thinking. When you allow me to see past that mask, I feel honored in a way.”

“My father oft expressed the same sentiment. Yet in the end, I was unable to tell him what he meant to me. He died without that knowledge.” Byleth breathed in deeply. “Words are not my strong suit; never have been. Which is why I have always preferred action. So in that vein...”

The fair-haired woman reached into her coat and pulled out a rectangular object. It was small, and wrapped in knitted cloth. A red bow kept it neatly bound. She set it down in front of Edelgard carefully.

“What is it?” The Emperor picked it up gently, as if it might break in her hands. She turned the object around, and recognized the cloth as something Bernadetta might knit.

“It’s something I hope you will enjoy, though I cannot say for certain you will.” Byleth rose, and brushed off her coat sleeves. “I only ask you open it soon and see everything it has to offer, before...”

“Before?”

The woman glanced back at her, composure regained in full. There was nothing to be gleaned from her posture or expression. The curtain had been pulled and her mask was firmly in place.

“It doesn’t matter. Just...please consider it.” Then, in a whirl of pale green and black, Byleth swept out of the garden. Edelgard stared at the space she had vacated, mind turning with possibility. She thumbed the red ribbon delicately. Then, with a hard tug, it pulled free. The knit cloth unraveled, bearing a leather bound book.

Edelgard traced a hand over the cover. It was not familiar to her, nor did it appear to be a published work of any sort. There wasn’t a title to be read along the spine, and the binding was stiff; as if new. Crossing her legs, Edelgard leaned back and took a sip of her tea. Then she flipped open the book and began to read.

* * *

On the eve of their march to Fhirdiad, a certain few members of the Black Eagle Strike Force concocted a brilliant idea. Nothing to do with the war or the battle at hand, of course. Such things were usually left to their Emperor and High General. Rather, a plan was made to celebrate the last night they would ever spend under the Immaculate One’s thumb. It was a harmless request, and Edelgard could not refuse the pleading eyes of her friends. Before they offered their blood in service to her cause, they deserved one last night of levity.

It was meant to be a cozy affair, consisting of only the Strike Force and their former professors. The dinner was small, but the drinks were plentiful. Conversation flowed freely, long before the gathering began to pick up steam. Then as the night wore on and laughter filled the dining hall, their worries seemed to drift away. Dorothea and Caspar led much of the festivities, with both of them breaking into a bawdy song every now and then. One particularly crude ditty had Lysithea blushing to the roots of her hair. Next to her, Leonie poked and prodded the woman teasingly. Staring up at Dorothea with eyes full of pride, was Petra. It was unclear if the princess understood exactly what was being sung, but no one dared to ask. The wrath of a songstress was harsh indeed.

Alois, ever the showman, took the time to reenact one of his many tales as a mercenary. He somehow managed to corral Felix into assisting him, though the other man looked far from amused. The story that was revealed was too ridiculous to take seriously. Bernadetta watched them both with wide eyes, seeming inordinately impressed. Edelgard was not able to hear all of the tale over the loud din, but she did manage to catch a few snippets. Something about slaying a giant squid with only a broken fishing pole? Then there was a duel with Sreng Pirates? Absurd, but she would let the man have his fun.

Leaning upon a far wall, Sylvain and Ingrid were conversing in hushed voices. Curiously, the man’s face was somber for once. The blonde woman next to him just appeared thoughtful. She wondered what they could be talking about, but considering all that had happened in the previous month, Edelgard decided to leave it alone. She was not the only person who lost something on the Tailtean.

A ways away from them, Linhardt was peering over Hanneman’s shoulder. Apparently the older man had decided to embrace the culinary sciences, and was currently presenting an odd looking pie. Behind him was the scowling form of Manuela, furiously tapping her nails along her forearm. Hubert and Ferdinand were bickering over some such nonsense by the window, though the Emperor was able to spot a thin smile on her retainer’s face.

Edelgard watched them with a fond smile, deciding not to imbibe for the night. Her head would need to be clear for the coming morning. She bit back a chuckle as Caspar suddenly stood on one of the tables and began to serenade the room.

“O’ I once spotted a maiden fair, who had posies in her hair!” His voice was rough and untrained, but it was charming nonetheless. “We stopped in the villie of ol’ Remire, where she sat and fulfilled my every desi––”

“Caspar! Cease such crude warbling!” Lysithea sputtered, face as red as ripe beets. The general just laughed before hopping back down with a thud.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?”

“He has a point, dear Lysithea.” Dorothea tittered. “At any rate, that particular song is rather tame. If you want to hear something truly filthy, I suggest the ‘Maude of Morgaine’ or the ‘Sreng Strumpet’.”

“I don’t want to hear any of them!”

“Now that’s just close minded.”

“Now, now, children...” Edelgard finally spoke up. She sent them both a scolding glance. “Try and get along, won’t you? A song is a song, Dorothea. I suggest you pick another, for the sake of young listeners.”

“I’m twenty,” Lysithea muttered, crossing her arms.

“Heh, you’ll always be our little Lysithea to us.” Leonie cut in, nudging her in the shoulder. The ashen-haired woman pouted lightly, but a glimmer of resigned acceptance was in her face.

“I suppose I can live with that.” She glanced to Edelgard for a moment. “As long as it’s just all of you. Anyone else, and I will not hesitate to put them in their place.”

“As you should,” Dorothea agreed with a bright grin. “Now who wants to hear about the Virgin of Varley?”

“Dorothea!”

Edelgard rolled her eyes before glancing to where Alois was battling Felix with a loaf of bread. The man jabbed forward, mimicking a rapier. The swordsman just batted the makeshift weapon with his hand.

“Must you continue this farce?” Felix growled out, clearly incensed.

“Of course!” Alois bellowed cheerfully. “How else will you understand the stunning dance of swords that occurred that day! Why, just remembering it fills my belly with excitement.”

“I would prefer you fill your mouth with food and not fabricated stories.”

“You wound me, good sir!” Alois stumbled back, and tucked the bread underneath his arm. “Hark, Bernadetta! See how this craven wastrel has laid me low!”

“Oh no! Alois!” The young woman visibly balked as the knight fell to his knees. She rushed up to him, as if he were mortally wounded. “Er..um...such knavery cannot go––” Bernadetta stopped suddenly. “Uh...”

“Unavenged,” Alois whispered out, eyes closed. The thin woman perked.

“Unavenged! I, the um, swift archer Bernadetta shall...slay him?”

“A fine start!” Alois suddenly bolted up, and ruffled his hand through her hair. Bernadetta flushed at the praise, and stared at her hands with a pleased grin. Felix just stared at them. He scowled thoroughly, before shifting his stance.

“If you want to play such foolish games, then fine. But I will not be called a craven wastrel. Pick up your ‘blade’, Alois, and we can try this idiocy again.”

“Wonderful!” The older man puffed out his chest, and smoothed down his mustache. “I will make a performer of you yet, my dear boy.”

“I’m _not _a performer.”

“But you will be!”

Edelgard watched them continue for a time before turning away, smiling all the while. Perhaps there was some merit to Alois’ antics. She would never tell him that, of course. To goad him further would only invite disaster upon the monastery. The Emperor contented herself with spectating these on-goings. Ingrid and Sylvain had joined their childhood friend, and were in the process of assisting with the ‘show’. The latter was well-chuffed in particular, and eagerly swatted Felix with a ladle. Ingrid cheered both of them on from the sidelines.

Meanwhile, Ferdinand had sequestered himself with the group of singing Eagles. The man was pompously belting out a famous aria with all the vigor of an operatic diva. Manuela and Dorothea looked on, appearing impressed. Though the songstress was far more reluctant in her approval. Everyone clapped enthusiastically when the future Prime Minister finished his solo. He bowed theatrically, the long sweep of his hair falling into his face. Edelgard frowned, a sudden thought coming to mind. She looked around the dining hall.

“Looking for someone?” Hubert appeared at her shoulder, subtle and quiet as ever. The Emperor tried not to let his knowing smile get to her.

“Not in particular,” She stated finally. He raised a dark brow, not fooled by the prevarication.

“Hmm. Then you wouldn’t be interested in knowing where a certain Professor is hiding out. A shame.”

“What?” Edelgard abruptly faced him, attention snared. “She’s hiding?”

“Not in so many words, I believe.” Hubert’s gaze slid to the far doors facing the pond. “Perhaps, enjoying the cold mountain air would be a more apt description.”

“...Why won’t she come in?”

“I’m not sure. I only spotted her from the window.” The tall man lifted his shoulders into a lax shrug. He smirked, a challenge written in his eyes. “It’s possible a certain Emperor might be able to find that out, if she were so inclined.”

“You’ve become far too bold of late, Hubert.” Edelgard stared him down darkly. He remained undeterred.

“Only as bold as you refuse to be, Lady Edelgard.” Hubert bowed deeply, though his smirk never lessened. “I only have your best interests in mind, as you well know. But do as you will. I will join the others for now.”

He left her to her thoughts, coat tails trailing behind him. Edelgard watched him join their friends, Caspar daring to grab the man in a jovial grip around the neck. Oddly, Hubert did not shake himself free, and withstood the touch admirably. They had changed. All of them. Yet here she was, still as uncertain as ever. She mused on Hubert’s parting words. _Bold as __I__ refuse to be. _Perhaps he was right in a way. Her courage was a flighty and tenuous thing when faced with matters of the heart. Edelgard turned on her heel and exited out into the night.

The air was chilled, but that was to be expected. Spring rains had brought a light mist that soaked the monastery grounds and covered any passersby. Damp wind chilled her bones, and she clutched her cloak tighter around herself. Byleth was not hard to spot. The woman was standing on the dock’s edge, face turned up at the sky. In the pale moonlight her figure was ethereal. The light shade of her hair glowed and swayed with the breeze. Edelgard observed her for a time, taking in the sharp cut of her shoulders. There was something painfully distant about her figure. As if she might drift away into the sky without a second’s notice. Edelgard moved closer, heart aching.

“Here you are…,” She began softly. “I was beginning to worry. Rather, _all_ of us were beginning to worry.”

“Hmm.” Byleth made a non-committal sound. She did not face her, preferring to look up into the black heavens. The stars were obscured by a thick blanket of clouds. Spring would not give them reprieve. Edelgard took a step forward.

“You should come inside. This will be our last chance to relax until we capture Fhirdiad.”

Byleth finally looked down from the sky. She craned her head, meeting Edelgard’s stare with her own.

“...Did you read it?” The woman asked suddenly. Edelgard startled a bit, taken aback. She remained quiet for a moment, before nodding her head once.

“I did.” The Emperor kept their eyes locked unwilling to look away. Her throat felt oddly tight. She cleared her throat to relieve the sensation. “It...it was the fable I told you before. The one about the princess and the wolf.”

Byleth stared at her. Those eyes prodded her to continue. So she did, voice small and halting.

“But you had it changed. In it, the wolf is not a wolf at all. It’s a woman who teaches the frail princess all sorts of things.” Edelgard ventured closer, just a mere step away from the former professor. “She teaches her how to be strong, how to think for herself, and how...how to forge her own path.”

“And?” Byleth replied, tone soft as the water below them.

“And so the princess goes back to the men she had left behind, but not to bow before them. She gives up her throne and decides to live out the rest of her days in the woods.” Edelgard exhaled, shaky and overcome. “Along with her beloved teacher.”

“Yes, she does.” Byleth’s expression shifted, stern visage slipping beneath a fond smile.

“But, why? What spurred you to––”

“In the first week upon my return, I was taken aside by Dorothea.” The other woman huffed lightly with exasperation, or perhaps amusement. It was hard to say. “She was quite cross with me, understandably I felt. But after her rant was done, she said something that gave me pause.”

“Which was?” Edelgard pried, altogether uncertain if she wanted to know. Byleth looked down at her, gaze searching.

“She told me you liked happy endings. I didn’t know what she meant by that at the time. So I thought on it. Then Petra ended up giving me an idea.”

“Petra?”

“I was surprised, too. Yet she was quite emphatic. She said I should give you something personal that you might enjoy. To show my appreciation and sincerity.” Full lips parted and revealed a heart-breaking grin. “It came to me then, what exactly I should do.”

“So you had this book made for me.” Edelgard was reminded suddenly of the night she had visited Bernadetta’s quarters. Then, like flint striking steel, realization dawned. Petra’s odd questioning, Bernadetta’s anxious outbursts, the sly certainty in all her friend’s eyes. They had known about this, though to what extent seemed to vary. Byleth remained blessedly oblivious to her growing embarrassment.

“You were distraught that day, as I recall,” The woman spoke again. Her green eyes were unapologetic in their warmth. “Just as I feared, you seemed determined to bear the weight of the world. And for all these years, that is exactly what you have done. Maybe the gesture seems peculiar, but I wanted you to see that it doesn’t have to be that way. Once this is over...you can have a happy ending.”

“Byleth...” Edelgard swallowed hard, past the weight settled in her throat. She shook, a leaf caught under a storm of feeling. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you will find it.” Byleth reached down and clasped their hands together. Then she brought their fingers up to rest upon her cheek. Despite the chilled air, her skin was warm. It reminded Edelgard of the tenuous nature of life. “No matter what happens tomorrow, say you will be happy.”

“I will try,” Edelgard whispered. It was an empty vow and she knew it. Should Byleth fall, there would be nothing left of this garden of roses. Her heart would grow cold once more, and the light she felt now would be nothing more than memory. Perhaps the woman could see that too. Byleth’s face fell, turning faintly melancholic.

“That is all I can ask...” Her silvery gaze drifted down to Edelgard’s mouth. “If we live, the both of us, I have one last gift to give you.”

“What is it?”

Byleth slowly lowered their hands. Then she turned them, baring Edelgard’s to the open sky. The woman leaned in and pressed her lips to the inside of her palm. The touch hovered along a scar long since healed, jagged and uneven as she herself was. It was startling, and the Emperor could only watch in disbelief. Her entire being ached with countless hopes and dreams.

“A promise.”

* * *

Of all the atrocities the Immaculate One had committed, the burning of Fhirdiad would be known as the most tragic. Streets and homes were ablaze. Commoner and soldier alike were not safe from ash and cinder. Flames lapped the city’s skyline, dark with all of Rhea’s black hatred. The dragon had been driven to madness, or perhaps merely revealed what had always been sleeping. A killer with gilded fangs. The castle shielded the monster for a time, but the Strike Force would not relent. They stormed the keep and battled through the roaring fire, cutting down the knights still loyal to their bestial master.

Catherine and Gilbert were among them. They bore their weapons without regret, content in that moment with the destruction Rhea had wrought. Their loyalty was a burdensome thing. Edelgard could see that clearly. She needed only to look at Cyril, so very young for the loathing in his burning gaze, to see the love they felt for that monster. They were lost amid a tragedy of their own making, yet none would claim to regret a thing. And so they fell, tumbling to the ground with bodies of ruined purpose. Even the bright Annette and the amiable boy Ashe, were felled at Rhea’s feet. There they wasted to nothing amid crackling embers.

Then, there was only the vile monster itself. The Immaculate One roared and spread its great wings wide. It swiped at them madly, desperate to crush these pests who dared bare their fangs. As one, the group of Eagles were succeeding in rending the beast to pieces. They cut through scale and wing, ripping through its flesh as easily as any animal of mortal means. A divine creature brought low by the feeble hands of humanity. The dragon screamed in defiance and stretched its neck high. Edelgard stood underneath the shadow of flapping wings, joined by the woman who had always chosen her despite the odds. She looked to her, anticipation flaring, and Byleth looked back.

A silent understanding passed between two people of equal might. Then the Emperor darted forward, knowing her beloved teacher would follow. With weapons arched towards the realm of gods, they leaped and struck the beast. It was a mortal blow. Blood the color of bile and pride spilled down silver scales. The monster collapsed to the unforgiving earth; defeated at last. Joy had radiated within Edelgard’s breast, her destiny finally realized with the person she held most dear. She turned to face her friend, _her love_, only to watch as the woman fell.

Byleth’s body was still, chest inert. One last cruelty imparted upon a sad little girl. Edelgard rushed to her side, panic etched in every part of her broken soul. Desperate, she pressed her mouth to the woman’s neck, searching for a pulse. There was nothing under that soft skin. No hint of life to be found, nor breath taken. She was gone, just as surely as Rhea. The Emperor pulled back, and the tears she had been holding back for years finally spilled.

_Please!_ Edelgard screamed in her mind, hands trembling. She clutched the woman’s shoulders and did something she had not since the days of her youth. She prayed. _Goddess, please! Do not take her from me, I beg of you! Let her stay at my side...please…_

_Goddess, have mercy. I love her._

For a moment all was still, and it would seem that her wish would go unanswered. Then, she felt Byleth begin to stir. Her chest rose, and a light breath was taken between chapped lips. Edelgard’s eyes widened. She leaned back down and pressed her ear over Byleth’s heart. A thud came, and a prayer had been answered at last. Edelgard smiled, tears falling in earnest. She buried her face within the long tumble of her love’s hair; now the same shade it had been all those years ago.

_Thank you...thank you…_

Edelgard leaned back, and stared deep into eyes of cornflower blue. The woman in her arms was awake, a tender expression upon her face. Byleth raised her hand and swept her thumb passed stunned eyes of lavender. She collected the tears that had fallen and wiped them away. _It’s alright,_ her gentle stare seemed to say, _I’m here with you._

_I know,_ Edelgard spoke within her heart. She bent her head, overcome in this fragile moment of time. _And I love you for it._ It was an echo and a promise in one, but also the beginning of a happiness she never dared reach for.

Edelgard pressed her hand over the rhythm of a pounding heartbeat. Then she closed her eyes, content at last. She barely registered the Strike Force assembling around them; did not hear their cries of relief and laughter that rang across the smoldering field, paid no heed to the shouts of delight as a Brigid princess swept a songstress into a sweeping kiss. Even when Byleth rose and Edelgard followed, she could still feel the song of life within the woman’s veins. It was more than enough.

* * *

Then, as is the nature of love and happiness, a sudden gift sent her world spiraling. Edelgard stared at the ring on her finger for a long while. It was beautiful and lovely; just as the woman who handed it to her. Byleth had stared at her with eyes of soft cobalt, smiling so sweetly as she had never done before. She was confident and certain; professing her affection without words, as was her way. Like a book bound with the intent to soothe troubled thoughts, or a throat bared in submission to a blade. Or perhaps, just as simply, hands clasped together amid flowers, tea, and stars. Edelgard smiled, turning the ring upon her finger. It caught the light, shining with all the possibilities it offered.

“May I assume you like it?” Byleth was sitting across from her at a small table. Together they were enjoying the sunrise, and watched as rays of orange and red blazoned a path across the horizon. All around them, flowers were in full bloom. Their scent stirred the air, and drifted upon the breeze. Sitting at Edelgard’s heels, Tiny Professor was pawing at a length of string.

“Is it not obvious?” Edelgard sipped her tea, and placed it back onto the saucer. Her smile was teasing as she turned to her love. _My__ love, at last._ Byleth raised a thin brow.

“Humor me.”

Edelgard laughed; genuine and free.

“Alright then...let’s see...” She pretended to consider the ring, then placed it to her lips in a light kiss. “I love it. More than should be possible, I think.”

“Then I’m glad.” Byleth’s expression gentled further, as it was prone to these last few days. She swept her hair back idly. “El...you are happy, aren’t you?”

Edelgard looked at her with all the fondness she could manage. Her fragile heart thrilled at the name, reclaimed by someone she loved so deeply.

“I am. Ridiculously so.” She peered at Byleth, almost timid. “Do you feel the same?”

“I do.” Byleth set aside her tea, and favored her with a chuckle. It was an odd noise coming from the typically serious woman, but ever since Rhea’s death her emotions seemed to run free. As if a heavy burden had been cast from her shoulders. Now she was beginning to express herself without abandon, and Edelgard was elated to witness it. Suddenly, Byleth rose from her chair. The Emperor watched her, curious.

“Is something the matter?”

“Not exactly,” Byleth hummed and cupped her chin. An odd gleam was seen in her twinkling gaze. “It just occurred to me that I might have to change the book’s ending. In honor of certain events.”

“Don’t you dare.” Edelgard rose and stepped into the woman’s arms. She held her hand over Byleth’s chest, right where a strong heart beat in endless repetition. “I happen to love that story now, and I refuse for you to ruin it. How would you like it if I scrapped that portrait I gave you?”

“I would only consider improving the material. Not replacing it by any means.” Byleth wrapped her arms around her in firm embrace. With the sunrise to her back, the woman’s hair shone like the sea. She bowed her head, mouth tilted up with mirth. “Perhaps an amendment or two...”

Like the brave eagle she now was, Edelgard seized her lips in an audacious kiss. Byleth relaxed into the touch, reciprocating deeply. For a long while they stood, wrapped in nothing but each other. Hearts met and welcomed in time. A poem of love completed at last. Byleth leaned back gently, her hand tracing down Edelgard’s cheek.

“...happy and in love.”

“What?” Edelgard whispered against her lips, thoughts muddled. Byleth laughed, another dream made real, before kissing her once more.

“The words I would have added. ‘Then they lived out the rest of their days, happy and in love.’”

_Ah_, Edelgard thought, _perhaps that would be a better ending indeed. _She captured her mouth one last time, then whispered three words that she had always longed to say. Byleth did the same, hand never falling from her face. As they stood under the sunrise, a cat slept beneath a table of tea and sweets. Whiskers twitched as the wind brought a sweet scent of roses.

_ Then Edelgard and Byleth lived out the rest of their days, happy and in love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterword:  
Well that's it! Done! Finito! The End! At least for this story(hinthint). First off, I would like to thank everyone who read/reviewed/leftKudos because you guys are the real MVPs! I was going to write this no matter what, but your overwhelming support spurred me on to provide the best content possible. This story started as just a way to put all my love for 3houses and El on digital paper, but it grew into this 80thousand+ behemoth. I hope you guys enjoyed my personal take on the timeskip as well as the interactions/scenarios that were written. It's been great fun to piece this together and explore El in the way she desperately needs to be explored (I love my Emperor). I don't have many thoughts to say on this chapter except I did my best to make it as sappy as possible. Did I succeed? I sure hope so! All these kids are wonderful, and absolutely deserve a happily ever after. Feel free to tell me your favorite parts! I'm curious what resonated the most.  
I may come back to this fic-verse in the future, either as an exploration of the hunt for TWSiTD or as a oneshot series with the other Eagles both during and after the story. I think I'm definitely going to take a break for a bit tho (creative juices are dry for now lol) But I do plan to continue writing in the future! Once again, you guys have been lovely and I adore each and every one of you!  
Thank you for reading~ AdraCat
> 
> *[ Alert!: This just came to my attention, but someone made fan-art for the heartbeat scene <3 Please go check it out at https://twitter.com/o314e/status/1174121034963963904  
From the wonderful miss cyra @0314e , I'm illiterate when it comes to social media (too old school) so please thank her in my stead!  
She has a great style and wonderful pieces in general, so please consider taking a look~  
You're a Boss cyra! Thank you! ]
> 
> *[More fanart folks! Thanks to the lovely Sarah @charbartt on twitter!  
https://twitter.com/charbartt/status/1179609404825575424  
Go check out her other stuff too! Another talented artist who deserves more support and all the love~ ]


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